


3D Extended

by Toe



Category: Quest Friends! (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bands, Alternate Universe - High School, Battle of the Bands, Gen, Other, hence the lack of crime and courtship characters and other quirks, if youre a music and have comments/suggestions they will be appreciated, it's original 3d except long and angst, most of this was plotted/written during questionable measures, mostly gen except misha and xoc are Like That, obligatory i'm not super knowledgeable abt music disclaimer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2020-07-09 02:51:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 35,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19880407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toe/pseuds/Toe
Summary: A piano, a kazoo, a chair, and a harmonicalculator walk into a bar,,,





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> the update schedule for this is gonna be a little strange-- i'm gonna be posting a new chapter each week up through auditions-- this covers about 40k words and it's all already written. after that, i'll be taking a hiatus to finish and polish the rest of the story, which is at the moment about 25k words plus ideas for a handful of chapters plus a hundred different holes that still need to be filled, so comments about what story lines interest you or other hopes or fears are appreciated! also here have 2 chapters for the first update since i posted the first earlier as a preview and it hasn't seen much editing lol

“Elee Badge?” Mauve’s head poked out from behind her door, then, following shortly after it, a beckoning hand.

Elee closed her eyes so that Mauve couldn’t see how hard she was rolling them. In the five minutes that Mauve had kept her waiting outside the office, she had had plenty of time to stew in her bitterness, which she had used rather effectively, staring at the taupe walls with such fury that she wouldn’t have been surprised had they caught fire. “Let’s get this over with.”

Elee slouched after Mauve as she disappeared into her office. Over the last year, Elee had spent more time with her guidance counselor than any student should have to. She didn’t take the seat across the desk even as Mauve motioned to it. She was a rebel. She didn’t need chairs.

Most of Mauve’s office was set up to be soothing to students. She had hung a gauzy cloth over the open blinds of the window, allowing a soft sunlight to diffuse through the room. A bowl of candy sat on her desk, and even though Mauve always offered it to students, she said that Mr. Mako usually ended up eating most of it. The one thing that didn’t fit the rest of the room was the sword hanging in a display case. Elee had asked Mauve once how she had gotten the administration to allow her to keep it there, but she had only laughed.

Mauve didn’t blink at Elee’s disobedience, watching calmly as Elee approached a small table by the window and the spider plant that it carried. “Do you know why you’re here?” she asked.

“I have some guesses.” One of the lower leaves of the spider plant had shrivelled and turned brown. Elee plucked it and began tearing it into little pieces.

“Care to share?”

“No.” Elee sighed and dropped her confetti into the plant’s pot. “Did Geoff squeal? Or was it Sal?”

Mauve leaned forward, resting her elbows on her desk. “What happened with Geoff?”

“Nothing.” Nothing he didn’t deserve, at least. Elee relented in her campaign to not look Mauve in the eye and grabbed the chair she was expected to sit in, spinning it backwards. If she had to sit in the chair, she was going to do it her own way. The spindly plastic armrests made it difficult for her to situate herself comfortably, but she managed to settle in with one knee tucked beneath her and one leg jutting out to the side. “Is this about my hat, then?”

Mauve gave a dry laugh. “I think we’ve said all there is to say about that. No, this isn’t about the hat, although there have been plenty of complaints.”

As far as Elee was concerned, all her teachers could fall in a ditch. Even if hats weren’t allowed to be worn in school, there was nothing forbidding her from carrying hers around, even if the brim was so prohibitively wide that it spilled over the edge of every desk she sat in and kept her from taking notes or using her textbooks-- the hat was her excuse, anyway.

“Elee Badge, this is about your grades.” Mauve held out a piece of paper towards Elee. Her transcript.

“That was my next guess.” Elee didn’t take the paper. She knew what it would say. Five years of steadily declining numbers, with one semester of the fourth year completely blank.

Mauve set the paper down. “What do you plan to do after graduation, Elee? Or, let’s not get ahead of ourselves: do you plan to graduate?”

“Sure.”

“What’s this, then?” Mauve gestured down at the transcript. “You’re failing multiple classes and we’re not even two months into the semester, and I know you’re not stupid.”

“I’ve already taken half of them,” Elee argued.

“So you know the material.” 

“So it’s boring and I don’t care!”

Mauve watched Elee curiously, unshaken by her outburst. Elee hated how silly that made her feel. “There’s still plenty of time for you to get your grades up. Study for your midterms, do your homework, take any extra credit opportunities that might come your way. You’re capable. I know you are, and there’s a path forward for you. Have you been looking at colleges?”

A year ago, Elee had been applying to colleges, although she hadn’t had much of a plan beyond moving forward in her life. She had gotten accepted to a few places, too, contingent upon her graduating. Then all her plans had turned to dust.

Elee said nothing.

“You might be a hard sell, with the way your grades are trending. Usually, I’d recommend applying to a wide range of schools and keeping an open mind, or going for an Associate’s from a community college first.”

Elee took the bait. “Usually?”

“Well, in your case, I don’t know. Do you still want to go to college?”

Elee hadn’t been thinking about her future much at all when she could help it. Too much had changed. She had been too busy watching the present burn. “A lot of my top career choices don’t require a degree. Like being a bouncer, or a gladiator.”

Mauve nodded. “But you are still planning on finishing high school?”

“Yeah,” Elee said without hesitation. If she wasn’t planning to finish high school, she would have to be planning to do something else, and she wasn’t willing to contemplate the future long enough to figure out what that might be. It was why she had decided on taking the extra year in the first place instead of trying for a GED. “You can’t get too far in life without a diploma.”

Mauve picked up Elee’s transcript again and opened her mouth to speak, but before she could start, Elee waved a hand to stop her.

“I get it. I’ll go to my classes and pass my tests. I won’t be a thorn in your side anymore.” Elee gave up on sitting in her chair backwards and shuffled it so that it was facing sideways instead.

“I wasn’t going to call you that,” Mauve said. She sounded so earnest that Elee snorted. “So I see that you have a study hall seventh period.”

“I can make better use of that time, too. Do my assignments or whatever,” Elee promised, though even as she said it she understood that it was probably a lie.

“Actually, I have an opportunity for you. It’ll be a relatively small commitment, and you’ll be able to earn half a credit for it. How does that sound?”

“Good. I guess. Depends on what it is.”

“Tutoring.”

Elee blinked. Even before her interest in her classes had waned, she wouldn’t have considered herself a good enough student to be able to tutor others-- at least, not in the sorts of classes that people needed tutors for. “Tutoring? I don’t think I’m cut out for helping people. Being nurturing or whatever.”

“I think you might surprise yourself,” Mauve said with a small smile. “A freshman is looking for help in Speech.”

“Ah.” Elee had taken Speech freshman year, too. Gotten an A. She thought she remembered enjoying it, but the concept of enjoying any class was so strange to her that she couldn’t be sure.

“Will you do it?” 

Elee sighed. With the somber way Mauve was watching her, and the way Mauve believed in her, and the way Mauve cared, it was hard for her to say no. “Who is it, and when do I start?”

“Her name is Soe, and as early as today,” Mauve said.

The name wasn’t familiar to Elee, but that wasn’t a surprise. She wasn’t involved enough in any activities to know people. Even though she had been in the same school district since elementary school, she felt like she didn’t know anyone anymore. Everyone from her own grade was long gone.

Elee was lonely, even if she’d never admit it. She hated the word. It sounded weak and it reeked of truth.

“Sure, okay,” she agreed grudgingly. “Is that all you wanted to talk about?”

“Not quite. I have an assignment for you, Elee Badge, something to try for the next few weeks, or the next few days, at least. Now, I don’t know what your plans are for the future, but you can’t keep closing doors for yourself. I’ve known you for years now. You can be smart and passionate and unstoppable when you want to be. So here’s your assignment: care.”

Elee didn’t respond. She stood and replaced her chair, lining the legs up perfectly with the dents it had worn into the carpet. She walked over to the door and paused with her hand hovering over the doorknob. “See you.”

“Go. And Elee? You can always come talk to me.”


	2. Chapter 2

Hopper barely glanced at his own test before he was craning his neck to peek at Lorraine’s score. He had only just usurped her as fifth in the class at the end of the last semester, and he hadn’t liked the way she smiled when she found out. A ninety-two was circled at the top of her page.

Hopper looked down at the eighty-seven on his own test and balled his hands into tight fists for just a moment before releasing them. The test on bones was supposed to be one of the hardest of the year, and Mr. Mako had said he would be offering extra credit to make up for some of the points that people lost. He wasn’t sunk yet. He wouldn’t be sunk. He would sell his soul for extra credit, and he would try very hard not to care if Lorraine did the same.

“So for homework you’ll be correcting all the answers you got wrong,” Mr. Mako said. “And-- yes, Simon?”

Hopper lowered his hand. “You mentioned extra credit opportunities yesterday? I was wondering what those were.”

With a flourish, Mako pointed a whiteboard marker at Hop. “I was just getting to that.” With just as much showmanship, he spun to face the board and wrote out: EMBARRASS YOURSELF. “Your first opportunity will be to post a video of yourself singing the bones song to any social media platform. Why, you might ask? Well I’m glad you asked! That will bring us to our second extra credit opportunity! I will be holding this school’s second ever Battle of the Bands, and I want all you musically talented people to get into the mindset of making music. Tryouts will be held the week after next, and everyone who’s there will get five points!”

Hop’s heart sank. He was a musician, sort of. He had played clarinet through middle school, though he had dropped it in high school to make room in his schedule, and he had made his own instrument when he was eleven, which he had remade a year before when he actually knew what he was doing. Apart from the marching band, he had never been part of any band. He didn’t play any cool instruments like the guitar or write rock songs or sing.

Maybe that didn’t need to stop him. Hopper would argue that his harmonicalculator was cool, even if he didn’t expect a lot of other people to agree with him, and he had written music before, even if it wasn’t the type of thing people would expect to hear at a battle of the bands. Dad Alvin was always telling him not to sell himself short. Some of the people in Math Club might appreciate his music. He didn’t know if any of them played any instruments or would have any interest in forming a band, but he had to try something.

“I have flyers here with more information. Grab one if you’re interested! Or don’t, they’ll be hung up all over for you to look at!”

Hop tried to pay attention to the day’s lecture, and he wasn’t unsuccessful. He managed to scrawl out a page of mostly coherent notes and copy down all the diagrams Mako drew on the board, but in the back of his mind, he was composing music. Some of his old songs played in his head, and he tapped out the fingerings on his desk. It was a relief when the bell rang, granting him permission to focus his attention on the music alone.

His backpack slung over one shoulder, Hop approached Mako’s desk. “Excuse me. What are the requirements for the battle of the bands? What kind of music would we have to play?”

“You don’t have to play any particular type of music! There are no limits on creativity! Except that your group must contain between two and six people and you have to perform two songs at least one of which is original and you can’t play anything from band or orchestra or choir.”

“Alright.” He just needed one more person, then. Hop started to pick at his nails. He had friends. He just wasn’t close enough with any of them to ask them to join a band. He didn’t even know if any of them played any instruments.

Lost in thought, Hop didn’t notice Lorraine breezing past him to grab a flyer until she was already halfway out the door, but he did catch a view of her face in profile as she left. It was only for a flash, but Hop recognized the infuriating curl of her red lipstick as Lorraine Stiles smiled.

Hopper defiantly snagged a flyer for himself, then rested his hand on the whole stack. “Did you need any help hanging these flyers? I have lunch next period; I can take some of them.”

Mako laughed. “Is this an opportunistic grab for more extra credit? I like it! I’ll give you one point if you can put these up all over the school.”

It wasn’t much, but Hop would take anything.

“Hopper!” a happy voice called down the hallway.

Hop paused midway through affixing a sign to the wall, pieces of scotch tape still tacked on three of his fingers. He’d recognize the voice anywhere. “Hey, Jesse.”

Hopper had a hard time ignoring people who were in need of help with math. More than once, he had stopped everything he was doing to help people whom he had overheard complaining about their homework or saw tearing up while flipping through their textbooks. Ever since he had stopped to help Jesse, the kid had idolized him and his tutoring vigilantism with overwhelming enthusiasm

Jesse, although they had been approaching Hopper from behind, had been excitedly waving their arms like they were signaling an airplane down a runway in order to get his attention. “What are you doing? What are these posters?”

Hop stepped to the side to show Jesse the flyer. “Mr. Mako is holding a Battle of the Bands.”

“Woah, are you in a band? That’s so cool. I should have guessed you’d be a musician, since music is like math and all.” Jesse’s eyes sparkled.

Hopper felt weirdly touched. That had always been his attitude about music, that there were patterns to find if you approached it analytically. “No, I’m not in a band. Though I do play music.”

“Not in a band? How are you going to compete, then?” Jesse asked. Then, before they could get an answer, they said, “Oh! Maybe Everett would want to enter with me! He’s been trying to learn how to play guitar for a couple months now! I’m sure we won’t be any competition for the great Hopper Scotch, though!”

“Thanks,” Hopper told Jesse’s contrails as they zipped down the hall. He would have to correct them later.

Hop smiled at the stack of papers waiting on the floor. Jesse would probably be thrilled if he asked to join their band, even if Everett could be prickly. He would feel intrusive, too, since Jesse and Everett were much closer with each other than he was to either of them. He’d try to find or form his own band, but at least he had a backup plan. It was only half a plan, but that was half a plan more than he had had before.

Lunch period was already half over by the time Hop had finished putting up flyers. He spent a moment staring in the direction of the cafeteria. There was still enough time left for him to eat if he hurried.

Hopper adjusted the straps on his backpack and spun to walk in the other direction. If there was time for him to eat, that meant that there was time for him to practice. Swinging by his locker to grab his harmonicalculator wouldn’t take him more than a minute and a half, which meant that he’d have about thirteen minutes left

Hop situated himself in a practice room, dumping his backpack on the floor near the door and perching on the chair in the center of the room. The music stand in front of him sat empty, but it felt appropriate, somehow, that it was there. It felt professional, lending a sort of dignity to the moment as he ran his fingers over the keys of his harmonicalculator, poised to begin playing.

The dignity was only partially undercut by the muted belching of a tuba bleeding in from the next room.

Hop started by taking a deep breath. He remembered the band director in middle school telling him that when a professional group played, you could hear them take their first breath, inhaling in unison, and it was like all the air was being sucked out of the room. He liked to imagine that he was summoning the winds from all corners of the earth into his lungs.

The first note Hopper played emerged in a fearsome squawk and Hop nearly dropped his instrument, juggling it between his hands for a tense moment before he regained his grip.

Hop cringed at the empty room. At least no one was around to witness his shame. He took a breath, a normal deep breath, and started playing again. He was rustier than he had thought.


	3. you can be tough and soft at the same time it's not a contradiction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is one of my favorite chapters i've written i love elee badge ;-; enjoy!
> 
> lmao watch this be the only chapter i give a title

An underclassman peered out at Elee from behind a bookshelf. Elee crossed her arms. She suspected she knew who the girl was, but if the girl wanted to talk to her, she was going to make her be the one to say it. She had stationed herself conspicuously at the most visible table at the front of the library specifically so that she would be easy to approach. This game of peek-a-boo was not amusing.

The girl’s head poked out one more time, and when she noticed Elee glaring at her, she pulled back with a muffled whimper.

Elee’s heart softened all too easily. “Is it Soe?” she asked.

“Um.” Soe fully emerged from behind the shelves. Elee wasn’t tall herself, but she still had a good couple inches on Soe, even including her dark hair, which was piled atop her head in the shape of a bow. Her posture only shrank her further. Her chin was tucked into her chest and she clutched one elbow tightly in her hand.

“You’re looking for me, right? Elee?” Elee could see why she was having such trouble in speech class. She was supposed to be a teacher. She needed to say something encouraging. “Do you know what words are?”

Elee was not good at being nurturing. Soe’s head lowered further. Elee sighed.

“I’m going to help you. That’s why I’m here. To help. So why don’t you tell me about what you need help with?”

Soe finally approached Elee’s table, but she didn’t take a seat. “Um, right now we’re working on a current events speech.” Soe rummaged through her backpack and pulled out a handout, which she held toward Elee.

Elee skimmed over the assignment. The requirements seemed simple; It needed to be three minutes long and related to some topic in current events. A rubric at the bottom of the page laid out all the criteria she would need to meet. “Do you know what you’re doing your speech on?”

“Polar bears.”

“Polar bears, alright.” Elee stared blankly at Soe. How was she supposed to be a tutor? “Why don’t you show me what you have so far?”

Soe pulled out a page of notes and offered them to Elee. Her handwriting cascaded across the page in small neat lines. Doodles of teddy bears filled the margins. Elee barely glanced at the page before she handed it back and started watching Soe, waiting for her to start.

Soe’s eyes grew wide as she realized that Elee hadn’t been asking to see her notes and her eyes flitted among the other people in the library, all of whom were focused on their own work. Soe’s face grew red anyway.

“No one is paying attention to you. Well, except for me. Obviously.” When Soe didn’t seem reassured by that, Elee sighed. “Alright. Come with me.”

Elee trotted off to the back wall of the library. Two meeting rooms were tucked away in the corners. They rarely saw any use, and on the rare occasion that Elee had seen anyone in them, she couldn’t tell why. Most of the time, the rooms were empty and locked to keep students out.

Elee tested the handle of one of the conference room door. Unyielding, as she had expected. She pulled a couple of pins off her hat and set to work on the lock. “Listen,” she muttered. “You don’t see this. If anyone asks, the door was unlocked when we found it, and no matter what anyone says, you stick to that story. Even if they think we’re lying, they won’t be able to prove otherwise. Be my lookout, will you?”

Soe said nothing, only stood behind Elee in solemn silence. Elee wondered if she had nodded.

Elee fought the urge to check over her shoulder as she worked her picks in the lock. She needed to be efficient, and that meant focusing, keeping the pressure on her makeshift torsion wrench as she finessed each pin to the shear line.

It was far from Elee’s finest work. Nearly two minutes had passed before everything clicked into place and the lock slid open. “Alright, get in.” Elee cracked open the door for Soe, waving to urge her in as her eyes swept across the library. She locked eyes with a student near the bank of computers. Elee made a gesture to let him know that she was watching him and he mimed zipping his lips shut. Good kid.

The library had been quiet, everyone talking in hushed voices, every noise lost among the mazes of shelves and high ceilings. The meeting room, though, swaddled them in silence. All Elee could hear was the buzzing of the lights and the rushing of her own blood.

The room itself was unimpressive. A conference table, flanked asymmetrically by seven chairs, swallowed up most of the space in the room. The aisles were so tight that Elee had to shuffle sideways to get to the whiteboard on the far wall.

The marker tray on the whiteboard was empty. All of Elee’s half-baked plans of pretending to be teacherly and writing something on the board, starting and very probably ending with the words “polar bears,” evaporated.

Defeated, Elee took a seat. “Here. Complete privacy. Think you can show me your speech now?”

“Okay.” Soe clutched her notes tightly to her chest and moved to stand at the head of the table. “Um.” She peeked down at her notes. “Everyone, um. Everyone knows about polar bears. They’re-- no, that’s bad, isn’t it? Can I start again?”

“You don’t need my permission.”

Soe nodded, took a deep breath, and stuttered out half of another opening sentence before sputtering to a halt.

Elee held up a hand to stop her. “Do you have something written out?”

“Yeah,” Soe said, pointing at her notebook.

“Have you practiced this at all before?”

“Yeah.”

“By yourself?”

Soe nodded. “Once with June.”

“And you start to struggle when you try to speak in front of anyone else?”

“Yeah.”

In spite of herself, Elee felt a smile creep onto her face. Mauve had found her the perfect tutoring job. There was no actual academia involved. She just needed to teach a kid how to be more confident. That was something Elee could do. She ran through ideas in her mind, thinking of things that made her feel confident. “Have you ever held a sword before?”

The horrified expression on Soe’s face made Elee cackle.

“No, never mind,” Elee said. “I can’t bring one of those to school. I’ve learned my lesson there. And the only sword I know of on school premises belongs to someone whom I respect and fear and who would never let me touch it. We can start slow, I guess. Why don’t you try the speech again, and this time try to pretend I’m not even in the room? I’ll focus on my own stuff. Won’t even be listening.” She pulled out a set of earbuds and wiggled them in demonstration before putting them in.

Elee scrolled halfheartedly down social media pages. If Mauve had asked earlier what Elee’s ideal tutoring job would be, she would have described her exact situation: doing nothing and still getting credit for it. And yet, she had had a flare of inspiration earlier. She had thought that she might know how to help this girl. She still thought so. In spite of herself, Elee wanted to teach.

Elee Badge cared.

Elee turned her phone’s screen off. “Fuck,” she whispered, stopping Soe in the middle of a word. Elee laughed and waved her hand, telling Soe not to mind her.

What else had Mauve asked her to do? Finish her assignments and study for tests and take extra credit wherever she could get it. It was overwhelming to think of all the catching up she had to do. Caring was not worth it.

Elee pulled out the anatomy test that she had failed. She had the textbook with her; she could get started on fixing her answers. That nerd in her class had asked Mako about extra credit, too. If she had to pass a class, anatomy was a pretty good candidate.


	4. Chapter 4

It was time for Xoc to pull out all the stops. He and Misha had been spending a lot of time together recently, but Misha was so cool. Xoc figured it was about time for him to really impress them.

Xoc stood at the head of the cafeteria table while Misha sat on a stool next to him. He drew a few curious gazes, but it was all worth it in the name of showmanship. “Pick a card, any card,” he said, fanning the deck out in front of Misha.

Misha critically eyed the selection. “Is each card truly equal in this situation? I don’t want to impede you in performing this trick for me.”

“You can pick any one of these cards, Misha Jarvis, and I will be able to guess it, for I, you see, am magic.” Xoc wanted to add in some theatrical flourish, but his options were limited while he was holding his cards for Misha, so he settled for wiggling his eyebrows and hoping it looked mysterious.

“I see.” Misha selected a card from the middle of the stack. “I have chosen the--”

“Stop! Don’t tell me what your card is.” Xoc shuffled the cards in his hands, a graceful bridge, then cut the deck, holding out for Misha to put their card inside. “Even if you don’t tell me, I’ll still know exactly which one is yours. You see, it’s all part of my magical abilities.”

“Intriguing!” Misha watched enraptured as Xoc shuffled the deck a couple more times, then held it out for Misha.

“Would you do the honor of cutting the deck?” Xoc asked.

Misha frowned. “I did not bring any scissors with me, but if you would be so kind as to lend me yours, I would happily cut anything for you. I don’t understand why you would want to destroy these cards before you have discovered the one that I have chosen, however.”

“It’s an expression we magicians use. You can move any number of cards from the top of the deck to the bottom so that a different card is on top. Like so,” Xoc said, demonstrating.

“Oh, I see.” Misha took a single card from the top of the deck, and Xoc took it from them to place it at the bottom.

Xoc frowned and screwed up his face, wiggling his fingers over the cards. “I’m using magic now to draw your card to the top of the deck, see?”

“Yes, that is an impressive feat.”

“Huh,” Xoc said, pausing.

“Is something the matter, Xoc?”

“No, no.” Xoc resumed wiggling his fingers. “I’m sure it’s fine. Here. Is this your card?” Xoc flipped over the top card of the deck.

Misha took the card from him and looked it over. “It isn’t, no.”

“Huh,” Xoc said again. He fanned out the cards, then wiggled his fingers over them again. He plucked out a random one from the bunch. “This one! This one was calling to me.”

“It is not that one, either, Xoc. Perhaps your magic is simply off today.”

Xoc’s face lit up. “Oh! So that’s why everything felt wrong! Check your scarf!”

Misha patted at the scarf around their neck. A card that had been tucked in the folds came tumbling out, falling to the floor face up. The seven of diamonds. “Yes this is the card that I chose! How did it end up there?”

“Magic.”

Misha smiled in delight and Xoc couldn’t help but smile back. “That is indeed an excellent trick.”

Xoc sat down in the seat opposite Misha and started happily munching on his cold pizza and watery green beans. He had impressed Misha. All the hours he had spent practicing his sleight of hand in front of mirrors had paid off.

Xoc didn’t understand why people in movies and on tv complained about cafeteria food. Sometimes it was the wrong temperature or consistency, but he had found all of it to be perfectly edible. Since he had been homeschooled for most of his life, he had been afraid of the mythically foul cuisine served in public school cafeterias, but he hadn’t had any complaints so far.

Misha squeezed mustard out over their mashed potatoes and took a big bite.

“So, would you want to do something after school?” Xoc asked.

Misha nodded. “I do a lot of things after school. Oh! Did you mean specifically doing something together? Yes, Xoc, I would want that very much.”

“We could-- we could study,” Xoc suggested. A normal human activity.

“An excellent suggestion.”

Xoc came to a dead halt in front of the library doors. A poster hung in the center of the door, advertising in bold red letters an upcoming Battle of the bands. He didn’t know why he had paused. He wasn’t part of a band. Didn’t have any reason to be interested in the event, but the flashy graphics had him mesmerized.

Misha looked him over with concern. “Is there something that is troubling you, Xoc? You have stopped rather suddenly.”

“It’s nothing.” Xoc blinked and rubbed at his forehead, trying to refocus. He had been looking forward to studying with Misha; he wasn’t sure why he had been distracted so easily.

“Is it this poster?” Misha squinted at it. “This battling bands sounds like an enjoyable event.”

“It does,” Xoc agreed, though he wasn’t actually sure how to feel about it. Having been homeschooled for most of his life, he didn’t have much perspective on school events, but he trusted Misha.

“Do you play an instrument, Xoc?”

He nodded. “I took piano lessons for a number of years. I haven’t played in months, though.”

“If you want to play again, you should sign up,” Misha encouraged.

“Oh, no, that’s-- that’s not why I was looking--”

“Perhaps I could join you,” Misha said. “It’s such a coincidence. Recently, I acquired an instrument for myself and I have been wanting to learn how to play it.”

“Yes. Let’s play together,” Xoc said, all hesitation gone. Even if he wasn’t sure how to feel about a Battle of the Bands, he’d do just about anything if it was what Misha wanted to do, and if he was with Misha, he knew he’d have fun.

“Hi. Excuse me, did I hear you say you were forming a group to participate in the Battle of the Bands? Do you have room for another member?” a boy dressed in all brown and carrying a small stack of papers asked. Xoc, unsurprisingly, didn’t know him. Xoc didn’t know many people.

Xoc and Misha exchanged a look, questioning each other telepathically. “Uh, sure. The more the merrier,” Xoc decided. He gestured at the flyer. “What do you know about this?”

"Not much." The boy launched into an explanation of all the rules of the event.

"It seems to me that, unlike what you said before, you know quite a lot about this Band Battle," Misha observed. "After all, these posters simply say to contact a teacher for more information and contain none of the details which you have just mentioned."

"Yeah, I did talk to that teacher. I mean, he's my teacher. That was how I heard about the event. He talked about it in class. But you probably don't care about all of that, do you?"

"On the contrary. I would say that I am very curious about you, as you are going to be another member of our band."

"I don't think we've ever talked before," Xoc said.

"Oh. I forgot to properly introduce myself. Hopper Scotch. Pleased to meet you.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Hopper Scotch. My nomenclature is Misha Jarvis, although you may call me Misha, as I find most people prefer to call others by shorter names.”

“And I’m Xoc.”

He extended his hand after Xoc and Misha recited their names, and both of them reached out to take it. They spent a mess of seconds knocking knuckles as they extended and retracted their hands, eventually settling into an awkward three-way handshake that lasted a moment too long.

“What instrument do you play, Hopper Scotch?” Misha asked.

Hop’s ears turned pink. “I call it a harmonicalculator. It’s a calculator, but it’s been modified so it’s more like a melodica. It’s cool, though. I promise it’s really cool. It’s like a different way of conceptualizing mathematical equations. That probably doesn’t sound cool. I’m going to stop talking now.”

"I'm interested, at least," Xoc said.

"Cool. I can show you when we meet. How does tomorrow sound? After school?"

"I'd like that. The sooner the better, right?" Xoc asked. Only as he was talking did he start thinking about the deadline they were facing. They only had a few weeks to figure out how they would mesh and learn their songs. Back when he played piano, he would take months to learn his pieces well enough to perform at recitals. They'd have to dedicate all their time to practicing, or maybe play simple beginner songs. 

"Sorry I can't do today, but I have," he shifted his arms to indicate the papers he was holding, "places to be. See you by the practice rooms?"

"Yes, we will see you tomorrow," Misha promised.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a double update this week since ch5 is so short!

Both hands gripping the copies he had made of the math worksheet, Hop ducked his head and took off at his fastest speed walk. The halls had emptied quickly, so no one was around to block his path.

He had found a band. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to talk to two strangers about it, or why it felt more natural to him than joining Jesse, but he was glad he made the decision he had. Maybe it was because they felt just as lost as he was.

As Hopper had feared, all five of the other members of the math club had already assembled. Four of them were sitting patiently in the front row, their desks empty and waiting for his handouts. Eraf stood at the front of the classroom, an open marker in one hand and half of an equation on the board behind her.

Eraf nodded at him. “You’ve got them. Good. Now that everyone’s here--” Eraf turned to the whiteboard and wrote STATE. “I got word earlier today from Mr. Turing that the dates for the state competition have been set. It’ll be two months from now, and we’re going to need-- well, let’s hear it from our illustrious treasurer. What does our funding look like at the moment.”

“In a word?” Hop, having finished handing out the worksheets, moved to stand next to Eraf. “I’d say abysmal.” They had something shy of thirty dollars left over from the year before. Not enough to cover gas even if two people volunteered their cars.

“Right,” Eraf said. “State won’t be a problem. If we can all chip in a little and we pay for our own shirts, we can make it there. If we make it to regionals, though, that’s when things are going to get expensive. That brings us to fundraising. We’re going to want to get something done before competition season. Any ideas?”

“Candy sales! Never fails!” Shannon chanted.

“Yes.” Eraf wrote the suggestion on the board. “In the past, candy sales have done well for us. Mr. Turing has already given us a green light should we chose to pursue that. Three other clubs have been selling candy, however, so it would be most practical for us to come up with other options.”

“There’s always a bake sale,” Hop said. Principal Brackleberry was infamously passionate about bake sales. If she learned that they were holding one, she would probably show up with arms full of cookies of every variety on paper plates to donate. She had been known to stay so that she could gush about her cookies to potential customers, too.

Eraf, no doubt also thinking of Principal Brackleberry’s antics, smiled. “Yes, there are always bake sales.”

“Our school’s second most popular fundraiser,” Charlotte piped up.

Shannon reached across the aisle to give her a friendly punch on the shoulder. “We see a formula that works, we stick to it. That’s the math club way.”

“Okay, we don’t have to be the boring club.”

“People do car washes, sometimes,” one student said.

“The basketball team has one planned for next week,” Eraf said. “I also don’t trust it to pull in much of a crowd beyond our relatives. Students… aren’t very good at washing cars.”

“I don’t want to wash cars in the cold, anyway,” the student replied.

“Maybe we could have a yard sale,” Hopper suggested. “People donate their old stuff, then we sell it.”

“I’m not certain that’s something we’d be able to do,” Eraf said. “Mostly because it isn’t anything I’ve seen or heard of before. It might work. I’ll consult Mr. Turing first before we make a ruling.”

The club tossed ideas back and forth for a while, but they only ended up with candy sales. When the discussion had devolved into jokes about stripping for cash, Eraf ended that phase of the meeting, asking everyone to think up ideas and bring them in next week.


	6. Chapter 6

When Misha got home, the house was empty. They didn’t have to poke their head through doorways or call out any names. They just knew. 

Whether or not they would find Marshal at home on any given day seemed random, anymore. He had been making strange friends. Even though on paper, he was supposed to be their legal guardian, Misha felt as if they, just as often as their brother, were responsible for keeping the household running.

Little Q-Bo would probably say the same. Even though he was still in fifth grade, Q-Bo had been plenty resourceful and self-sufficient over the last year. Misha didn’t have to worry about helping him get ready in the mornings or get to school. Often, when Misha woke up, they would find him already seated at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of dry cocoa puffs and reading the news.

Misha shot a quick text to Q-Bo inquiring to his whereabouts. They weren’t worried-- even though Q-Bo’s bus should have dropped him off twenty minutes ago, he occasionally went home with friends. Misha was more worried about their nineteen year old brother than their ten year old sibling.

Misha checked every room of the house, anyway. No one. As Misha stared into the empty space of their living room, their phone buzzed. Q-Bo was at the park. He would be home in an hour.

Whenever Misha was idle, they checked over the house, taking inventory of their food and sundries, mopping, vacuuming, dusting, doing laundry. Between Misha’s efforts and the neighbors quietly taking care of their tiny yard, the house always appeared perfectly functional.

The house was still empty once Misha had finished all their chores. They wondered what Xoc did when he was home alone.

Misha, after staring blankly at a wall for a few minutes, settled on doing research. They found videos of expert kazoo players, trying to parse out what techniques they used that might distinguish them as skilled. With some frustration, they realized they couldn’t tell at all.

Misha brought out their own kazoo and hummed along with the musicians in the videos. They could at least determine based on their relative lack of experience that they sounded worse.

Misha shut off the videos to focus on their own sound. Their buzzing tone, at least, seemed identical to what they heard, even if they tended to squeak when changing notes.

A rustling from the front door told Misha that one of their siblings was home. They shut their laptop and straightened in their seat, craning their neck to see who appeared.

Q-Bo was short, the shortest person in his class. The handle on the door rose to his shoulders, so he had to reach up to grab it. In spite of that, or maybe because of that, he always tried to appear dignified, wearing the sorts of vests and bowties that adults saved for special occasions. He tried to gel his hair sometimes, but no matter what he did, it always ended up sticking out in messy spikes, so he had mostly given up on that.

Q-Bo turned to wave at someone in the driveway or on the street before pushing his way through the screen door and into the house. “Hello, Misha,” he greeted cheerily. “I hope you had a good day today.”

“Hello, Q-Bo. I did, and I hope that you can say the same for yourself.”

“I can!” Q-Bo said. He wandered into the kitchen, Misha following closely behind.

“I was wondering,” Misha began tentatively. They watched as Q-Bo pulled out a step stool to grab a loaf of bread from a cabinet, then neatly and precisely returned it to its place next to the trash can. “You’ve been checking out many encyclopedias from the library lately. Have you read anything about music in them?”

Q-Bo grabbed a jar of pickles from the fridge, then handed it to Misha. “Music. A form of art using sound. What about it?”

Misha unscrewed the lid and passed it back. They had helped Q-Bo make his favorite after school snack many times. They knew the drill. Three spears of pickle laid vertically between two slices of white bread. Sometimes he’d add relish to spice things up.

Misha pulled out a chair from their kitchen table and flipped it backwards so that they could watch as Q-Bo made his pickle sandwich. “What do you know about kazoos?”

“A player hums into the kazoo vibrating a membrane which adds a buzzing quality to their voice. Is this about that instrument Marshal’s friend sold you? I do not think they were being honest when they were describing its soothing properties.”

“Actually, I have found it to be a worthwhile investment,” Misha said, remembering the delight on Xoc’s face when they had recommended starting a band. “However, I was wondering what it would take in order to be able to play one with some skill.”

Q-Bo shrugged. He plunked his plate down on the table. “I don’t believe it’s a matter of skill with the instrument. A kazoo only modifies the voice of the player. I would try vocal exercises.” He lifted his sandwich, dripping pickle juice onto his plate. 

“Vocal exercises,” Misha echoed. “I believe I understand. And do you know anything about songwriting?”

“Sorry, that’s too technical and too subjective for my knowledge.” The pickle juice had soaked through the bread on his sandwich and started welling up where his fingers gripped it. He took a big bite.

“That is quite alright, Q-Bo, you have already been very helpful.”

“Are you thinking of writing songs?”

“Perhaps.” Misha explained their situation with Xoc and the Battle of the Bands. “I do not believe that Xoc has much experience with songwriting, and I am uncertain about our new friend Hopper Scotch, so at this point, I am expecting that we will be writing the music together as part of a team effort.”

“Will I be able to see your band in battle?” Q-Bo asked.

An image flashed through Misha’s mind. They were standing on the auditorium stage, Hopper and Xoc behind them. They had just put on a hell of a show, and the whole audience was screaming. Q-Bo, silent, was looking up from the front row, the whole band seeming larger than life. Reflections of the spotlights shone in his eyes. “I do believe that you will, as long as we pass our audition.” Misha wanted it more than anything.

“Then, good luck in passing your audition!”

"I am appreciative of your support," Misha said. "And Q-Bo, once you have finished your snack, I was wondering if you might want to join me in visiting a nearby garage sale which I have seen signs for on my commute from school."

Far too many of Q-Bo's possessions had come from yard sales and secondhand stores. Misha and Marshal had been older before they were left to fend for themselves, so they had some material things that had only ever been theirs-- for example, they had not outgrown all of their old clothes, and Misha wanted Q-Bo to have at least some opportunities to choose whatever he wanted from big stores instead of picking through what was available to him while looking for anything that might fit, but worrying about money and not having access to transportation to big stores often had limited their opportunities. Apart from his bowties, almost everything Q-Bo owned was secondhand.

"I would be delighted to!" Q-Bo took a larger than advisable bite from his sandwich and gulped it down. He began to kick his legs in excitement.

Misha smiled. "Good! I will grab our supply of monetary currency, then."

The garage sale was farther from their home than Misha had anticipated. Although there were signs in their neighborhood, the arrows led them down a major street for nearly a mile before turning again onto residential streets.

"Are you alright, Q-Bo?" Misha asked. "Will you have the energy to walk back?"

Q-Bo nodded, although Misha could tell he was breathing heavier than usual. "I think I'll take a moment to sit while you browse."

The garage sale had been worth the trip. Misha wondered if several neighbors had contributed. The assortment of books and clothes suggested a wide range of ages, and the sheer number of tables piled high with junk meant either that the homeowner was quite the packrat or that the items had come from several locations.

Misha turned away from the dented cookware to sift through the books at an adjoining table when a sudden regularity caught their eye. At first, they wondered if spines so perfect and even belonged to a series of tiny books that had gone unread. Then they realized they weren't looking at books at all, but cases. They lifted one to get a closer look. [Band name] on the front. A track list on the back. Misha had rarely seen them in person before, but they were looking at a row of cassette tapes.

"Are you interested in the walkman?" A lisping voice said.

Startled, Misha clenched the tape tightly and took half a step back until they were pressed against a table. The voice belonged to a young man with a round face, who spread his hands out wide in a non threatening gesture.

"Woah there. Didn't mean to startle you. I'm Cart! Are you interested in the walkman?" he repeated, gesturing towards a plastic machine cradled by a pair of headphones. "It comes with all the tapes, since the tapes are basically worthless without it! I can hold onto those by the register for you if you'd like!"

"I believe I am interested," Misha said. They didn't keep up with pop music much. They weren't sure they had a specific taste in music at all, even. Being part of a band now, they liked the idea of having this connection to the tradition that they had the pleasure of continuing. "Although that will depend on the price."

"For you, that'll be twenty five dollars!"

Misha's shoulders sagged. They were able to afford it, and they'd still have some money left over, even, but Q-Bo needed the chance to pick out what he wanted. "I'm afraid at that price, I will have to wait on making my decision, although I will let you know if I decide that I do want it."

"Alright! I shouldn't be too hard to find." With that, Cart slouched off.

Misha turned back to look at all the titles on the cassette tapes and realized that Q-Bo had been standing next to them. He already had two books tucked under his arm.

"I'm glad we traveled to this yard sale. Now I'll be able to learn about local bird watching!" Q-Bo held out a small purple paperback with a battered cover for Misha to examine.

"I am beginning to wonder if we should have brought bags with us. It seems as though with how many options there are for us here, it might be difficult to carry whatever we choose home with us," Misha said.

"Did someone say something about bags?" Cart's lisp interrupted. "Don't worry, just load up everything your little arms can carry! We've got bags at the register!"

"Don't mind if I do," Q-Bo said eagerly, turning back to the books.

Misha wandered through the rows of tables, picking up decorative hand towels and flower pots and a rake with broken teeth, but nothing excited them the way the walkman had.

"Misha Jarvis, this hat is half as tall as I am!" Q-Bo said. He was wearing a straw hat with a tottering brim that flopped over his eyes. Next to him, a coat tree was covered top to bottom in hats of every description.

"I do adore that hat on you, Q-Bo Jarvis, although I don't believe your teachers would appreciate it if your wore that to school."

"Look, there's another one here for you!" Q-Bo stood on his tiptoes to reach another hat with a wide brim, though this one looked to be some sort of stiffened canvas with orange and white stripes forming a bullseye pattern.

Misha took the hat from him and put it on, adjusting it until it flopped over their eyes like Q-Bo's hat. "It is as though there is a sibling resemblance!"

Q-Bo laughed and exchanged his hat for another, a navy bowler. "What about this hat, Misha? How do I look?"

"I think you look dashing!"

After they had each worn every hat on the stand, Q-Bo started to pick through all the clothes in his size and Misha found themselves gravitating back towards the walkman. They tucked it under their arm and scooped up as many of the cassettes as they could hold.

"Please hold onto these for me." Misha dumped the tapes onto the table in front of Cart, where he sat next to a cash box, which Misha believed was what he had been referring to as a register. It was selfish of them, but they couldn't imagine leaving without it.

Misha's stomach churned as they sought out Q-Bo. They didn't dare hope that Q-Bo hadn't found anything to buy. They wanted Q-Bo to find many things that delighted him, but if everything went well, they didn't know what they were going to do.

When Q-Bo spotted Misha, he gathered up his haul, which he had left on the corner of a table, in his arms, which, though they were small, were very much full. Two sets of dress clothes, one red sweater, and four books, one of which was hardcover, and Misha wasn't going to leave the garage sale without all of it.

"I believe I have found everything of interest to me here," Q-Bo announced. "If you're also finished, let's pay."

"Alright." Misha hastily grabbed the first two hats they could off the coat rack and marched over to the register. They didn't know much about haggling, but since no matter what they did, they wouldn't be able to offer more money, they needed to be able to make a sacrifice somewhere.

Misha followed Q-Bo to the cash box and they set everything down on the table. Cart watched, smiling and nodding at their haul. 

"You wanted the walkman, in good condition and with an assortment of cassettes, so that's twenty-five dollars, then these nicer clothes will be a dollar per piece, then the books--"

"I have thirty dollars and--" Misha pulled out the cash from their wallet and slapped it down on top of the stack of clothes, then started tallying up the change. "twenty-eight cents. I will give it all to you for everything I wish to purchase."

Cart sized them up, then looked down at the money. "Alright. It's a little short, but we were originally going to charge fifty cents for all the children's clothes, anyway. You have yourself a deal."

Misha hesitated. They had not expected such an easy victory. Then they nodded confidently, like they had expected this outcome all along. "Thank you. It has been a pleasure doing business with you."

"Of course, of course." Cart helped them stuff everything into two plastic bags, both of which Misha took. They couldn't have Q-Bo getting too tired.

Misha felt light and giddy. They dropped the bowler hat they had grabbed onto Q-Bo's head, then pulled the poet's hat on their own. "Now we are ready to brave the long trek home!"

\--

As soon as they were home, Misha pulled the walkman out of the bag. They put the headphones on and distractedly drifted over to the couch while turning the machine over in their hands, trying to determine how it functioned. Though they tried to turn the power on and press every button, they couldn't get it to react.

The machine needed new batteries, Misha decided. Surely if they had pressed every button and none of them was correct, then something other than the buttons must be the cause of the problem. Misha found the small compartment and pulled aside the plastic flap to find that there weren't any batteries in the machine at all, nor did they have any in the appropriate size in the house.

Misha set the walkman aside. They would buy batteries the next time they were at the store. For the time being, they still wanted to surround themselves with music. This concept of becoming a musician was new and exciting and Q-Bo had given them such helpful information for getting started.

The internet fed Misha an endless supply of vocal exercises. Some of them they found repeated often, climbing and descending scales singing do re mi, or holding notes for as long as they were able and then a second past that, but no matter how deep they dug, they always found new ones, different tongue twisters and series of sounds. Some were for singers and some were for actors, and Misha tried them all. By the end of the night, their throat hurt and their voice had grown hoarse. They drifted to sleep with scales floating through their mind.

Marshal never came home.


	7. Chapter 7

Elee slammed a hand on Hopper’s desk. She had been wavering back and forth all day about the thought of cornering him in anatomy. She figured she should do it before the part of her that thought it was a good idea waned entirely and her apathy took over. “You.”

“Excuse me?” Hopper looked at her with wide eyes full of fear and bewilderment.

“You’re a nerd, right? Like, just a big old nerd.” A not insignificant part of Elee was already regretting the conversation, but she was committed now. She would see it through.

“I guess. I mean, a lot of people would say that,” Hopper said. “And so would I. I would also say that I’m a nerd. What is this about?”

“That means you have a band for this extra credit assignment, right?” Normally, making that assumption would have been a huge leap in logic, but she had seen how desperate he had been the day before. This kid would do anything to help his grade.

“Yeah. We’re having our first meeting after school today.” His hand itched towards his backpack.

Elee smiled at him. Nodded. “Perfect. I’m joining.” Thus was born New Elee, who passed her classes.

“I would appreciate that, actually,” Hopper said, sounding surprised at his own words. “You can meet us by the practice rooms after school and we can talk more about it then.” He glanced at the clock just as the bell rang.

“You’ll see me then,” Elee promised.

Elee examined her hair in her phone’s selfie cam. Her silver had faded recently, with patches of it looking like a yellowish white, and it had been months since she had touched up her roots. She didn’t care for the red hair that grew there. It didn’t suit her much, anymore.

On the other side of the room, Soe was practicing her speech. As Elee had promised, she wasn’t paying any attention, but even so, she could tell that Soe was getting better. She wasn’t pausing as much, talking in a more steady rhythm. Elee was a great teacher.

Elee drummed her fingers on the table. She knew she still had bleach powder; she had bought in bulk since she was tired of burning through multiple little packets any time she wanted to change anything. She had some developer left, too; she knew the bottle was still sitting in the cabinet beneath her bathroom sink, but if she remembered correctly, it had been getting light.

Elee pulled up the beauty store’s website, browsing through their selection. She’d stop by after school to grab what she needed.

Soe stopped and Elee looked up, raising an eyebrow at her.

“So? How did that feel?” Elee asked.

“Um. Better, I’d say. I’ve practiced so much, so I pretty much know what to say now,” Soe reported.

Elee was the best teacher. “Are you ready for me to listen yet?”

Soe’s gaze dropped.

“Never mind. Go at your own pace.”

“I probably should push myself, right? Uh. What’s that?” She pointed at Elee’s phone.

Elee flicked off the screen of her phone and tucked it into her pocket. “For dyeing my hair. Bout time for a touch-up. Never mind that. Show me your speech.”

Soe nodded. “Okay.” She glanced at her notes, then at Elee. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Her face flushed.

“You know, you don’t have to be scared of me,” Elee said. “I’m in no position to judge anyone. Like, ever. You can go ahead and make your mistakes.”

“Sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“Right. Right, sorry.” Soe took a deep breath, then launched into her speech, stuttering as badly as she had before she had practiced at all.

“Do you want to talk?” Elee asked. “Just talk?”

Elee wasn’t a therapist, or a mother, or even Soe’s friend, really. She didn’t know how to connect with people, but she needed to let Soe know somehow that she didn’t have to be afraid, not of anyone, but especially not of Elee.

Soe uncertainly took a seat across from Elee and watched expectantly.

“I poked myself in the eye with my toothbrush this morning,” Elee said. Soe gave a surprised laugh. Encouraged, Elee continued, “It’s true. I was putting toothpaste on the stupid thing and my cheek started itching. Now, I was half on autopilot and half awake, and that is a dangerous combination. So my half awake brain says that I can’t scratch my cheek with the hand that’s holding the big bulky toothpaste tube, right? So I go to scratch with my other hand. And I poke myself in the eye with my toothbrush.”

“Ow.”

“Oh, it wasn’t too painful. More jarring than anything. The eye was watering for like an hour, though. I must have looked like a madman, half my face crying, the other half glaring at anyone who looked at me like I was a madman.”

“Sounds like it would scratch pretty bad, since, you know, there’s sand in most toothpaste,” Soe said.

Elee rubbed her eyelid. “Sand? I did not know that. Shit, something like that could make an old lady like me blind. I don’t want the last thing I see to be this dreary school!”

“Old lady?” Soe asked, giggling.

“That’s me. Oldest student here. One foot in the grave at all times. I like you. You laugh at my jokes.”

Soe blushed and ducked her head, covering her face with her spread hands. I sounded like she mumbled something, but Elee couldn’t make it out. She wasn’t sure she was meant to.

“Oh, you haven’t heard the worst of my embarrassing stories yet. One time, during my junior year, I went out to buy ice cream, but I ended up on autopilot and I didn’t even realize what was happening until I was at the doors to the school and they were locked. I couldn’t figure out why they were locked for a good ten seconds. It was a Saturday.”

“At least there was no one around to see you?” Soe said.

“Uh-uh. I did not get off that easy. The soccer team was practicing. I don’t think they noticed me. Karl, though, was there the whole time. Said he was watching to see what--” Elee stopped. Swallowed. “What I was doing. Knew the whole time that I wasn’t headed to the ice cream place. He was always so curious, though.”

Elee counted her breaths. She was in a conference room. In the library. At school. October of her second senior year. Soe was watching her. She didn’t have time to be a maudlin mess.

“So. You got any embarrassing stories?” Elee asked. She couldn’t stand having the focus on herself anymore, enough to put her equal to Soe in that regard.

“I--” Soe trailed off, not in timidity, but in thought. That was progress. “I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk on my way to school today. But only Geri saw and he trips almost every day, so I don’t know if that counts. Does-- does it count?”

“Exactly what I was looking for,” Elee said, as though she had some sort of rubric in mind when they had started their talk. Soe smiled anyway, and that was good enough for Elee.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chap is going to be very familiar for those who have read the original 3d. enjoy!

"These are the practice rooms," Xoc said. He had seen them once before, when his orientation group had toured the building and he had stood on his tiptoes to catch a peek of the crowded hallway over the heads of the others from the back of the group. He hadn't been inside any of the rooms before, and he couldn’t help but run his hand over the scratchy navy carpet that covered the walls.

He and Misha had rushed there after the bell, arriving early enough to claim one of the rooms that had a piano for him to use. It was small. The room felt full enough even with only two of them there, plus an assortment of chairs and music stands. With Hopper joining them, it would be cozy.

Xoc tossed his backpack beneath the piano bench and took a seat. He played a few notes and was surprised to find that it was tuned, though he supposed that enough people played it that it was important to make sure it was in good repair.

Xoc realized then that Misha was staring at him. They were still standing in the middle of the room, just close enough to him that they could watch over his shoulder as he played.

"Uh. So, Misha, what is this instrument that you're learning how to play?"

“I am glad you asked.” With a flourish, Misha produced from their backpack a kazoo. It was surprisingly nice for a kazoo, made of a golden metal instead of brittle plastic in primary colors like the kind you might find in a pinata at a child’s birthday party, which was the image Xoc conjured up in his head whenever he thought about kazoos.

Still, it was a kazoo.

“Would you like me to play it for you?” Misha asked. Xoc nodded.

Misha launched into a rendition of a Backstreet Boys song. It was uncertain and often off-key and colored with that ridiculous kazoo texture. A genuine grin crept onto Xoc’s face.

Xoc had taken years of piano lessons. He had spent countless hours limping up and down scales, practicing different pieces on each hand independently before he could even try practicing on both together, and even then, it was wash, rinse, repeat until his teacher had been satisfied that he had perfected all of the dynamics. For him, music had been a grind. He wouldn’t have said he hated playing, exactly, but he’d never liked it much, either.

It was different listening to Misha stumble their way through a pop song just so that the two of them could play together. In that moment, he knew that music could be fun and he fell in love, a little.

After they had finished, Misha timidly lowered the kazoo from their face. “What do you think?”

“I loved it,” Xoc said, and for a moment, the two just smiled at each other.

They were interrupted by Hopper knocking at the door, then letting himself in. He was followed by a short girl with a fierce scowl. Xoc didn't recognize her.

"Hi. I brought another band member, if you think we could use one," Hop said.

“I’m Elee,” the girl said. Unlike when Hop had introduced himself, Elee didn’t offer her hand.

“See, Mr. Mako, the anatomy teacher, he’s one of the judges so he’s giving extra credit to anyone who participates and we both need it,” Hop explained.

“Don’t you have an A in the class?” Elee asked.

“Well, yeah, but it’s nice to have a buffer. Just to be safe.” Hopper scratched his cheek in embarrassment. "Anyway, I know I sort of invited myself into the band to begin with, and I don't want to step on your toes, but I think Elee would make a great addition to the team."

"What sort of music do you play?" Misha asked. Hopper turned to look at Elee like he, too, was interested in hearing her answer.

“I’m really good at hitting stuff.”

Xoc tilted his head as he tried to parse her words. “Do you mean like percussion?”

“Sure,” Elee said with a shrug.

Xoc wasn't sure what to make of her. He wasn't against adding someone else to the band, and it hardly made sense to refuse anyone for anything relating to the music, since they didn't have anything planned. Still, he hesitated to make his choice.

“With the current composition of our band, it would certainly be useful to add in percussion instruments,” Misha said.

“My vote is for as well,” Xoc added quickly. He gave a thumbs up.

Hop clapped once. “It’s unanimous, then. Welcome to the band.”

“Perfect. I’ll go steal stuff from the band nerds, then.” Hop looked perturbed at that, but before anyone could protest, she was gone.

Defeated, Hop took a seat next to Misha. “Have you guys been practicing?” he asked.

“A little. I was just showing Xoc here my treasured kazoo which I have recently purchased.” Misha held the kazoo out for Hopper to inspect. He leaned in closer, then nodded politely.

“It’s a great sound,” Xoc promised. Hop didn’t seem convinced.

“Sure, uh. Glass houses, I guess. So, why don’t I show you guys my instrument?”

Hop’s harmonicalculator was essentially a graphing calculator that had grown a tentacle. The screen had been gouged out, though, and in its place was a strip of zebra print duct tape covering a foreign bony structure. Hopper pressed at a few of the keys in the rhythm of a song, but it didn’t produce any sound.

It took a worryingly long time for Elee to return with a snare drum held aloft like a trophy and a pair of cymbals tucked under her arm. “Spoils of war,” she announced, and Xoc had serious doubts as to whether or not she was being hyperbolic.

“So… shall we…. jam?” Xoc asked. He had never played music with anyone else before, save for when his teacher would play one hand of a song and he would play the other. He had no idea what to do with this group of people he had accidentally assembled.

"I guess I can start," Hop offered. He ran his fingers thoughtfully across the keys of his harmonicalculator. "What style of music do you guys play? Like, what genre?"

"I've mostly learned classical pieces. I don't care for them,' Xoc said.

"I have only just begun to learn how to play my instrument, so I have not yet established any sort of preferential style," Misha said.

Elee shrugged. "I'm fluent in hitting things in any genre."

"That's not very helpful," Hop sighed. "Maybe I should have asked what sort of music we want to play, if we're all still learning."

"Alright, listen," Elee said, pointing a cymbal at Hop in an intimidating gesture that might have been purposeful. "Genre is an arbitrary construct that serves to limit more than it does anything else. The best way to grow as a musician is to learn the soul of each song without confining yourself to some narrow taxonomic system that can only describe what has already been created. If you want to do something new and unique, to really be an artist, you--" Elee halted. She blinked, then looked at each other face. "I mean, don't listen to me. I don't know what music is, and I'm not too bothered about picking a genre."

"A label seems like a good starting point, at least," Hop protested, though he didn't sound convinced himself. "I'd feel a lot more comfortable having some sort of direction, at least."

"I believe that we could solve our current predicament by simply playing, then deciding how to label ourselves after," Misha said. "It would eliminate any sort of inaccuracies to do things in this order, and it would allow us to express ourselves without the confinement of a genre."

"Just start playing? Without any sort of intention?" Hop asked. "You know what? I'm okay with that. It's like we're still having a conversation, just in a different language. It doesn't even have to be a song, really. Not playing a song, just expressing the sort of thing we'd want to play."

"I can count us off," Elee offered, then, without any prompting, chanted, "One, two, three, go."

In spite of what Hopper had said, he was clearly trying to play a song, although something about it felt too stiff, like maybe it was in a different time signature, or like he was following a tempo in his own head instead of following Elee. Misha followed him on their kazoo, usually one beat behind plus or minus some fraction. Elee seemed to relish every noise she was able to make. She had abandoned the snare drum to experiment with clapping the cymbals together louder and louder. Xoc, for his part, used the time as a warm up. It had been months since he had played the piano and years since it had been any sort of regular thing, and while some of the lessons were so ingrained in him that he'd never forget, many were already gone. Xoc didn't try to play music. He didn't think he could if he wanted to. He ran through a series of unconnected chords, relearning how they felt.

Then, after about a minute, Elee shrugged and dropped the cymbals, which gave off one last muted clap as they landed on the ground. "Bored. Anyway, I think we should call our genre disasterstep. Or disaster combined with some other musical genre related affix. Or just disaster, that would work also."

"I don't know what I expected." Hop lowered his mouthpiece, his face blank and his eyes hollow as though he was unable to process all the horrors he had witnessed.

"We learned nothing," Xoc agreed.

"Perhaps we could try again," Misha suggested. When Hop's eyes flashed with panic, they added, "Try again, but this time follow someone's lead and each actually attempt at creating music. I admit that my earlier suggestion was flawed, but perhaps making these changes will allow it to work out better."

"I'll take the lead," Hopper offered immediately. "How do trigonometric functions work for you?" Hop lifted the mouthpiece to his lips and started playing a unique, dizzy melody. There were moments where it spun and stumbled on itself, but it resolved with gymnastic brilliance. Hop repeated the melody, giving the rest of the group meaningful looks.

Misha followed his lead, humming the same melody into their kazoo, the buzzing creating a sharp contrast with the smooth notes of the harmonicalculator, but since they had been able to hear the melody before playing, they were almost able to keep pace. Xoc joined shortly after, tentatively testing different chords and cringing when most of them ended up being irredeemably dissonant.

Elee's cymbals rattled in, joining the mix with a tinny rumbling as they let some gentler claps reverberate. It didn't match Hopper at all, but her volume built until it was nearly loud enough to drown everything out and Xoc found himself anticipating it reaching some sort of crest after which she could find a rhythm that would mix with the rest of the group, but the moment never came. Instead, she just stopped, and the rest of the group fell apart with her.

"Is something the matter, Elee?" Misha asked. "You have stopped rather suddenly."

"Yeah. I don't know that I'm feeling something so predictable. Know anything that’s not based on math?” she asked.

Scandalized, Hop protectively pulled the calculator in closer to his chest.

"You know what? Don't mind me. I don't have any experience with music. Maybe I just need to give these a rest for now." Elee shunted aside the cymbals to grab the drumsticks that had been resting on the rim of the snare drum. She gave a quick drumroll. "All better."

"I can start with something simpler, too," Hop said, sounding relieved. "Like The Pythagorean Rhythm. It's the first song I wrote that I was actually proud of. The first one that was any good."

"Sounds perfect. Lay it on me," Elee ordered.

Hop was right; the new song was much easier to follow. Xoc quickly found a few chords that brought some emotion to the piece. He started to experiment with adding a little countermelody, but found it broke his concentration too much. 

By the end of the first practice, the band had figured out how to play together. They still had their flaws; Hop tended to be inflexible, easily flustered when he tried to deviate from his rehearsed melodies; Misha would usually follow either him or Xoc instead of creating their own part; Xoc could only reproduce what he composed in his head with fifty percent accuracy; and Elee didn’t care to be anything but loud; but they were listening to each other. Coordinating, or at least trying to.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> high school elee is actually the best to write. highly recommend.

"Elee Badge. Nice to see you again," Sue said, sounding only moderately sincere. Elee had been in her gym class junior year before she dropped her last semester. Elee had always liked her. That didn't mean it wasn't a pain when she interrupted her workouts.

Elee pulled the bar down to her chest for one last rep, then guided it back up until the weights had touched down. "What can I say? I just can't get enough of us." She crossed her arms. Maybe there was some sort of unspoken understanding that the weight room belonged to the wrestling team on Tuesdays and Fridays, but officially, it was open for everyone, and if they didn't want Elee there, she was going to make them kick her out. Weightlifting had been one of her best releases over the past few months and Sue could pry it from her clenched fists.

"The offer to join my team is still on the table, you know. Lord knows you're at least as dedicated as these athletes." Sue swept out an arm to showcase the room, where athletes in their gym uniforms huddled around the machines in small clumps, joking and laughing and only occasionally actually working out.

"I think you've fundamentally misunderstood my character," Elee said. "I'm a lone wolf. I don't want to be part of a team. I'm not here for anything honorable like dedication. I just want to be made of steel and this seems like the best way to do it."

"And so you come here multiple times each week to make it happen. Sounds like dedication to me." Elee hated the sly way she said that.

"Have you and Mauve been talking? It sounds like you've been talking," Elee muttered. She turned around so that she didn't have to look at Sue anymore and started her next set.

"If you're going to be here during the team's time, could you at least not misuse the machines?"

Elee shifted her grip so that both her middle fingers were pointing up.

"For your sake, I'm going to pretend I didn't see that. Jerry!" she snapped, finally shifting her focus away from Elee. "Put that thing down!"

Elee let out a long breath, exhaling until there was nothing left in her lungs, no hollow in her chest and she was pure, tight steel. Then she sucked in a deep breath, because her muscles needed the oxygen if they were going to move these weights until they burned and ached and she tasted something salty that was somewhere between sweat and blood.

Elee was so much stronger than she had been when she first started working out. She had started off focused on cardio, something that made her cringe to think about. She hated cardio, but it had been a good way to kill an hour and come out the other side feeling battered, but present in her own body. Weightlifting was much better. It felt more focused, less like she was exercising to tear herself down and more like she was building herself up.

Elee kicked up the weight on the machine. She shared this room with the wrestling team, but if she took too long there, she had to share the locker room showers with the volleyball team, something which she had unfortunately been subjected to multiple times after she had lost track of the time she spent on the ellipticals. It hadn't been such a problem recently, but Elee did want her solitude in the showers.

Once her arms were burning and trembling, Elee turned around to face the world again. She scanned the room, looking for open machines where she'd be able to work on her legs for a little while, when she spotted Hopper sluggishly stepping on an elliptical. Elee went and claimed the machine next to him.

"Didn't even come over to say hi, huh? I'm offended," Elee said, not offering any hint as to whether she was being truthful or not, mostly because she wasn't sure herself. She thought they were supposed to be friends if some sort, though she wasn't sure what sort yet. She wasn't sure why she had decided to engage him, even. She liked her solitude, and he hadn't bothered to approach her. She wasn't sure she wanted to take the time to focus on introspection and sorting out her emotions and motivations. They didn't matter in the end, anyway. "What are you doing here?"

"Gym make up. My dads thought they were being helpful when they turned off my alarm and let me sleep in. I'm going to lose even more sleep now making up for everything I missed," Hopper panted. "Just because I took an extra couple hours making that poster for chem and putting together exercises for math club and writing a paragraph for extra credit in history instead of sleeping."

"You don't like sleeping?" Elee asked.

"No! I mean, I guess it's fine, but it's dead time, you know? And there are a lot of other important things to be doing if I want to keep up my grades," Hopper said.

Elee nodded. "Like forming a band." If that sort of thinking was what had brought him to help her, she wasn't going to criticize him.

"Exactly."

They jogged in silence for a moment, reminding Elee of how much she had come to truly despise cardio. It was boring and she felt nothing and every second that passed, she was a second closer to just jumping off the machine and leaving Hopper to himself without so much as a goodbye.

"They seriously came into my bedroom and unplugged my alarm clock," Hopper complained. "It was almost eleven before I woke up. And when I got upset, they just said they were worried about my health. I don't need health; I need an A in history."

"Nice. Where do you get parents like that? You know, ones who don't care about your grades and just want you to sleep?" Elee asked.

"They're the best," Hop said miserably. "But what are you doing here? I didn't think you were on the wrestling team. You have make ups to do, too?"

"I'm here for the joy of showing those big bricks of iron that they're not better than me." Elee gestured out at all the weight machines. "You want to get a taste of that? Much more fun than the ellipticals. We could spot each other. It would be cute."

Hopper wrinkled his nose. "This is easier."

"Here, we're just killing time, but there, you get to a point where you're not just killing time, you're building yourself up into something better, and you've got all the sweat and pain to prove that you're working for it and you deserve it," Elee said. About half a second after the words left her mouth, she realized just how sappy she had sounded. "Uh. You know, you're not a true warrior until you can bench twice your body weight. And I want to be a samurai."

"I don't know if that's the best fit for you," Hopper said.

Elee tried to reach out and smack his shoulder, but with all the bobbing they were doing on the machines, it ended up being more of a soft pat. "Say that again and you're getting a katana to the throat."

"No, I mean, not being a warrior, but samurai have their strict codes of ethics, right? They're all about serving their lords."

"And I wouldn't bow to anyone. Alright, I can hear you out without cutting out your tongue," Elee said. A smile crept across her face.

"Exactly. I think you'd be." Hopper paused to pant for an uncomfortable amount of time. "A pirate, maybe. Or some other sort of outlaw."

"A pirate, huh? Okay, I'll take it. My new threat is that you're getting a cutlass to your throat. Or a flintlock pointed at your skull. One of the two."

"Yeah, I still don't like those."

Elee drew a finger across her throat and laughed at the look on Hopper's face. "Your turn. What kind of warrior would you be?"

"Well." Hopper looked sideways at Elee, then at a spot on the wall. "This is probably self-indulgent, but there are some books I've read and I think I'd like to be a cowboy. A wanderer, bringing the law everywhere I go."

"Six shooter at your hip, a feisty steed with a badass name. I can respect that," Elee said. "Sounds like we wouldn't be friends, though."

"Maybe not. But we could still be unlikely allies, teaming up to foil a greater evil. At the end of the day, when we've beaten it into the ground, we go our separate ways, me without arresting you, you without hurting the town or maiming me, and neither of us care to admit that over the years with our scattered encounters, we've fostered soft spots for each other."

Elee cackled. "Yeah, that sounds like us. Anyway, I'm going to go lift some weights. Care to join me, partner?"'

Hopper looked down at the monitor on his machine as it tallied the seconds. "Yeah. I guess that does sound more interesting than this, anyway."

"Woah, there, don't sound too excited," Elee said, rolling her eyes.

Elee was pleased to discover that she could lift more than Hop. It made some sort of sense, since she regularly worked out and she didn't know of him ever doing any sort of physical activity outside of gym class, but she had always had a small frame. Over the years, she had gotten used to being the small, frail one, but that wasn't quite the case anymore.

And then Elee lost track of the time. It wasn't until Hop said something about having been there long enough for a teacher to sign off on his make up form that Elee realized she wouldn't be able to beat the volleyball team to the showers.

From across the room, Sue raised an eyebrow at Elee. Elee could practically hear her mocking the way she had declared earlier that she was a lone wolf.

So be it. Even better to let her know how completely disinterested in the wrestling team she was that she would lie to keep Sue off her back. Even if it hadn't been a lie, really, not in the moment. Elee genuinely hadn't thought of herself as the sort of person to have friends. There was no one in the world who she would have asked to join her there in the weight room, and very few who she would join if she had stumbled across them there, but she had gotten very lucky.


	10. Chapter 10

"Xoc, there is something which I am excited about and would like to show you," Misha whispered. 

Xoc glanced around the crowded cafeteria, searching out any reasons Misha would have to be secretive and coming up empty. He replied in a normal volume. "I would like to see this something. Is it something you shouldn't have in school?"

"I am uncertain, however I do know that it is frowned upon that we have our phones powered on while we are here, so it stands to reason that the faculty may feel the same way about other electronic devices, although it wasn't covered in our orientation."

"An electronic device," Xoc said thoughtfully. "I like electronics. Do you have it with you?"

"Indeed!" Misha reached down to dig through their backpack, leaving Xoc to watch as their shoulders bobbed above and below the surface of the table. It took the better part of a minute before they emerged triumphant from the depths. "I do apologize, but the cord on my headphones had gotten tangled."

Xoc recognized the device Misha set in front of him from pictures, but he never expected to see one in person. "Is that a walkman?"

"That is correct. I have recently purchased this walkman at a garage sale, and I was thinking that it would be a good way for us to listen to some more traditional music so that we might be able to understand our roots as musicians," Misha said proudly. "I have a few tapes with me as well, if you want to select one that we can listen to together."

"Okay." Xoc picked up each of the tapes that Misha set in front of him, turning them over to glance at the track lists and read the names. He only recognized a few of the classic songs, but he ultimately decided on a tape with a red case that was completely unfamiliar to him. "This one."

Misha loaded the tape into the device and began fussing with the buttons. "Do excuse me if this is a slow process. I have never used this machine before since I wanted to explore this with you."

Fortunately, Misha was too focused on the walkman to notice how much Xoc blushed. Moments later, muted piano burst from the headphones.

"Here." Misha leaned over the table, pressing one side of the headphones over their ear. Xoc leaned in too, mirroring them.

In the crowded lunchroom with headphones facing the wrong way, Xoc didn't end up getting a good listen to the music which was playing. He was only mostly certain that it was orchestral, but maybe that was a good thing. Only catching snatches of the song, Xoc found his mind filling in the gaps, composing its own music to fit the little that he heard.

"That was quite a beautiful song," Misha said as it faded.

"It was," Xoc agreed eagerly. "Are these other tapes all like this?"

"I am not certain. I have only recently obtained batteries for my device, so I myself have only listened to a few songs." Misha's hand floated over their library, then they decisively grabbed a case and popped it open. "Let's listen to one more."

"It's gonna take a lot to drag me away from you," the walkman sang.

"I know this song!" Xoc said excitedly. He pressed the headphone closer, leaning over farther to try and get better sound. The back of his hand brushed the back of Misha's and he started blushing.

"I have heard it before, myself," Misha said. The flipped over the cassette case to look at the track list. "Africa."

Xoc closed his eyes to focus on listening to the song. They had started the tape near the middle, so it was only a minute before the last bars played. Far too quick.

"This has been an enjoyable experience. However, I will be putting this walkman away now. I do not want it to be confiscated if some teacher walks by and it is indeed against the rules to have one, but perhaps we could listen to more together later?"

"I would love to," Xoc said.

"Would you be free to spend time together outside of school? I must admit that this is something which I have been considering for quite some time now." Misha's eyes flickered between Xoc and the soggy green beans on their tray.

Xoc's mouth went dry. He could feel himself blushing again. "I. Yeah. Maybe you could come over to my house? I mean, you can come over to my house. If you want. We can pick a time, is what I meant."

"I will have to check my schedule, but that is something I would enjoy very much."

"Cool." Xoc smiled.

\--

The events at lunch kept replaying in Xoc's mind all day. The day passed in slow motion. It was eons before the final bell rang and Xoc seated himself on the bus home. He whipped out his phone instantly. He needed to talk to someone-- someone other than Misha, someone he wasn't afraid of embarrassing himself in front of.

Loell had been a friend of his for years, ever since they both played Runescape together. He had attached himself to Xoc doggedly, probably because of Xoc's high level, but Xoc had never protested. He had been lonely, and it was kind of fun having someone to play his games with. Even though he had been chatting with Loell for a long time, he still didn't know much about him. He had seen only one picture of him, and over time, when he never saw more, he began to wonder if it might be a catfish situation.

Xoc wasn't even sure he cared if it was. Loell hadn't ever suggested that they meet up in person, had never pressed Xoc for too many personal details, and had only ever asked him for his time. And some of his fake virtual items and gold. No matter who Loell was, he was still a friend. He had nothing to gain by faking that.

wizardoftheeast: hey, loell? can i talk to you?  
brainbud69: sure thing, buddy. what's on your mind?  
wizardoftheeast: you remember that person i told you about?  
brainbud69: oh man  
brainbud69: i could not forget even if i tried  
brainbud69: it still blows my mind that theres someone else in this universe  
brainbud69: who is dumb in exactly the same ways you are

Xoc couldn't bring himself to get offended at that. The story of how he met Misha was silly, after all. They had both been in the same group for freshman orientation, an optional three day program that Xoc had chosen to take since he would be transitioning from homeschooling to public school. Misha had been in his group, and he hadn't thought much about them at first.

When they ended their first day at noon, the teacher instructed them to be back at eight. He had meant eight am the next day. Xoc and Misha were the only two to misinterpret it as eight that evening.

wizardoftheeast: we listened to music together today.  
wizardoftheeast: i can't stop thinking about it :/  
brainbud69: ooh, sounds intimate  
brainbud69: you putting the moves on them?  
wizardoftheeast: i don't know. i really want to spend more time with them.  
wizardoftheeast: i don't think so, though. they were the one who brought the music.  
brainbud69: oh what a stud! pulling them left and right  
brainbud69: tell me about them

Xoc typed out half of a message, then deleted it, then tried again. He wasn't sure how a couple texts were supposed to convey everything that Misha was, and he hated the thought of giving an inadequate description. It would be doing them an injustice.

wizardoftheeast: their name is misha.

There. That was a start at least.

brainbud69: sounds special  
wizardoftheeast: they are! the other day, when we had lunch together, they were telling me about

Distracted by thoughts about Misha, Xoc nearly missed his stop to get off the bus. He didn't even realize until then how thoroughly he had been monopolizing his conversation with Loell, who had mostly been giving one or two word responses and short prompts for more info. He tucked his phone away as he dashed off towards home. He'd have to ask Loell about his own day later.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hhhhh i have a weakness for group chats in fics. enjoy!!

“We need a band name for the sign up sheet,” Hop announced. “I wanted to try signing us up early to make sure we have a spot, but we need a band name. Also, there were a lot of spots left, otherwise I would have just improvised something and none of us would be happy with that. I don’t really know how we want to present our group, so I guess that's the first question we have to consider.”

"You think an awful lot, Hopper Scotch," Misha said. 

"Uh. Sorry? I guess?"

“I’d like it if our name was something fun,” Xoc said.

“Like parties or fireworks?” Misha asked.

“Hey, yeah. Something with party could be good. It works on another level, too, since we’re a party.” Hop brought out a pen and a notebook. He hunched over his lap, taking fastidious notes.

“The Dumbasses. Self-deprecation is fun, right?” Elee said.

“Dumbbutts,” Hop corrected. “We are in school, so we should avoid anything too profane.”

“I withdraw my suggestion.”

"Party..." Xoc trailed off and hit the A key on the piano. "Party Animals." Then he climbed the scale. "Party Banimals. Party Canimals. Party CSharpnimals."

Hop's pen hovered uncertainly over the notebook. "Was Party Animals a serious suggestion?"

"Yeah. I like parties and animals," Xoc said, shrugging. He played a couple more aimless notes, hoping that they might focus his thoughts, then stopped when they didn't.

Once the last notes faded, everyone was silent. The room was filled with furrowed brows and small frowns.

"I am having some trouble with this exercise. I have never named a band before, and so I don't know how one names a band. What parameters are we working with?" Misha asked.

"Let's access the datasphere. Maybe it can help us," Xoc suggested. He pulled out his phone and started poking at it.

"Datasphere? What's that?" Hop asked.

"It's a sphere and once you open it, you can ask it questions to access all sorts of data. See?" Xoc held his phone out towards Hop.

"That's the Chrome logo."

"Datasphere," Xoc said with jazzhands for added emphasis. A quick search brought him to a band name generator. “Ghost Jaws. Cannibal Factory. Ordinary Project.”

“Charming,” Hop said. He didn’t take any notes.

"I see. Are all band names two words, then?" Misha asked.

Hop hummed thoughtfully. "That seems like a good starting point, at least. Adjective noun. It can be unique enough and expressive enough if we do it right."

“Desperate Flunkers,” Elee said. “It’s true to our origins.”

“I would have to disagree. It seems to me that that name would only be true to your origin, Elee,” Misha said.

Elee brought a hand to her chest. Her mouth fell open. "Are you calling me desperate?"

"I believe you were calling yourself desperate," Misha said.

"Yes, I am wise in that way," Elee sighed. “So then-- I know our Hopper is here as a hopeless nerd, but why are you two in the band?”

Xoc and Misha looked at each other for a moment before Xoc shrugged. “For fun, I guess.”

“Huh.” Elee stared at them, mystified. “I can’t tell if that’s admirable or deranged.”

“I’m not sure what you mean by that. It truly has been fun to play music with all of you so far,” Misha said.

Elee’s expression softened. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but no words came out.

“I like the idea of doing something oblique, with a deeper meaning to it that isn’t obvious,” Hop said. “Or maybe we could do something that makes us sound like a crew of badass pirates.” He shot a smile at Elee.

“Toothrot and Scurvy,” Elee said, grinning back.

“Buccaneer sounds kind of bouncy. Maybe we could use that,” Xoc suggested.

“Brave Buccaneers. Happy Buccaneers. Look Out Everybody, It’s Buccaneer Time,” Misha tried.

“Fuckin Buccaneers,” Elee said. “You get that sound repetition. It’s nice. Fuccaneers for short”

Hop gave Elee a withering look. She held up her hands in a sign of defeat.

“Actually, thinking about it more, I don’t feel like we’re in a place where I’d feel comfortable taking something so thematic as our identity,” Xoc said. “At this point, we’re pretty much an ill-defined mess.”

“Ill-Defined Mess!” Elee crowed. “There’s your band name!”

Hop sighed. “Still kind of mean, but I’ll put it down.”

“Ill-Defined Buccaneers?” Misha suggested.

“We’re past buccaneers. Elee ruined it for everyone,” Xoc said, earning himself a light clock on the head from one of Elee’s drumsticks.

“Would you shoot it down immediately if I suggested something math related?” Hop asked.

“Yes,” Elee said.

At the same time, Misha said, “Of course not. I’d love to hear any suggestions you might have.”

“Yes,” Elee asserted once again.

“Super Laser Bandits,” Xoc said, though it was without any conviction.

“3D,” Elee decided. “For daring, desperate, and deluded.”

“That does sound fun. Makes me think of movies and bright colors and art coming to life,” Xoc said.

“I like it, too,” Misha agreed.

“It also has kind of a sci-fi vibe to it. I can dig it. Plus, you get your self-deprecation.” Hop snapped his notebook shut and stowed it in his bag. “So I guess it’s settled. We’re 3D. Now for our next question."

Elee slumped. "There's another question, huh? It never ends."

Hop shot her a look. "There is. We need to know what sort of music we want to make. We're going to need at least one original song for auditions."

"I thought we decided we didn't need a genre last session," Xoc said with a frown.

"Not having a genre doesn't mean not having music, though, and if we're making music together, we should at least have some agreed upon starting point, right?" Hopper argued. "Just the base for one song. That's all we need. Not something that has to define us."

"But Hopper Scotch, you have already written music. We've heard it. Wouldn't that be a starting point for us?" Misha asked.

"It could be," Hop said. He smiled sheepishly. "I mean, I like that as a starting point. I don't want to force it on all of you, though."

"I, for one, like the idea of not having to put in the work of writing a song from scratch." Elee started tapping out the Pythagorean Rhythm with a drumstick on the side of her chair.

"And I enjoyed playing along with your music last session," Misha said.

Xoc nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, me too, and I think I can start writing out my own part so that we have a more consistent sound. At least, in the last session, I had a pretty good idea of where I could start."

"I think I'll be improvising a while longer, myself," Elee said. "Writing this stuff down sounds tedious."

"I'd say it's worth the effort, though," Hop argued mildly. 

"I--" Misha started. They looked from face to face with a troubled frown.

"You know, I think I might have part of a countermelody written down somewhere. But, uh, it would be in an old notebook. I'll look for it when I get home, and you could play that," Hopper offered.

Misha looked relieved. "Yes, that sounds like an excellent idea."

"You know, I don't have everyone's numbers yet. We're going to need to communicate to schedule practices and stuff, right?" Hopper asked.

"A group chat," Xoc said thoughtfully. He had never been part of one before, really. The closest he had come was when he was an active part of a magic server before he decided that he didn't care much for the community. A lot of them were much older and not very tolerant of amateurs. It sounded like fun to have a group of friends ready to talk to waiting in his pocket.

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking," Hopper confirmed.

They swapped phone numbers and Xoc sent out a message to all of them.

Xoc: hello 3d!  
Hopper: Hello!

"I do not know that this will be an efficient system of communication for me. Each of your messages is coming through as a separate conversation on my cellular phone," Misha said. "Such a system might be complicated to follow if I am away from my phone for an extended period of time, and I am unsure of how I might reply in such a way that it would be sent to all of you."

"Yeah, and I'm not getting notifications for these messages," Elee said. "There's probably something I can change in the settings, but."

"I know an app we can use," Xoc offered. The app that he used to talk with Loell.

It felt like a shift to him, giving out his username to the band. Sharing phone numbers was a thing people did for group projects, working together on a professional level. Just business. Sharing usernames felt more personal. He was telling these people that they were his friends, basically.

wizardoftheeast: does this work better?  
MishaJarvis: Yes, I do believe I will be seeing every message as part of the same chain as this message is tagged with the handles of each of our companions. I am quite enjoying this layout as well; it seems as though this application will be easy to use for our purposes.  
fuccaneer: Ditto  
HopperScotch: I'm seeing everything properly, too.  
wizardoftheeast: nice!  
wizardoftheeast has changed the group name to 3D  
MishaJarvis: It is handy as well that our chat can have this abbreviated moniker. The utility of this application is impressive.  
HopperScotch: Should we have rules for this chat? Limits to what we can use it to talk about or when we can use it?  
wizardoftheeast: my bedtime is 11pm  
fuccaneer: I'm torn between my desires to not follow rules and to not be bothered  
HopperScotch: Right, so we should try not to send messages after 11:00 pm! That's the sort of thing I was talking about!  
wizardoftheeast: i'm okay with getting messages later than that though  
wizardoftheeast: just as long as you don't expect a response right away lol  
MishaJarvis: I do find it considerate that we would try to put such rules in place, however, I do not understand why we would try to stop each other from saying the things that we want to say. I trust that all of you will be inoffensive and I do not wish to silence anyone from simply talking about subjects unrelated to the band.  
fuccaneer: ^^^^^  
fuccaneer: except mostly just Fuck rules

"So no rules," Hopper said.

It was jarring to hear the conversation carried from his screen into real life, then on the heels of that feeling was the realization that it was silly for them to have been typing out everything they wanted to say when they had all been sitting in the same room. Xoc shrugged. "I mean, I don't think they're necessary."

"I concur," Misha said.

"Pinky promise I'm not going to be sending all of you dumb shit all night." Elee raised a pinky into the air and waggled it.

"It was just a suggestion," Hopper said. He tucked away his phone. "Anyway, we've been wasting a lot of time. We should get to actually practicing."


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops missed an update last week. hope this is fun enough to make up for it!

"Change of plans," Elee said, marching into the practice room. "I'm taking you all to karaoke. My treat."

"Karaoke," Xoc said reverently. He was sitting backwards on the piano bench, his elbows depressing sets of keys, but whatever unholy chord the notes created had faded to silence. "I've seen that on tv before."

Misha set their kazoo in their lap. "I believe I have seen it as well. If I am recalling it correctly, however, I do remember it usually taking place at bars. Elee Badge, I know that you are older than the rest of us, but I still do not think you would be able to enter a bar, and you would certainly not be able to sneak all of us in."

"Not at a bar," Elee corrected. "It's at an arcade about half an hour from here. I've been before, they have private rooms. No alcohol involved. Unless you want to pregame. But you're all children, so I'm not going to enable that sort of behavior."

"That does sound like it would be a delightful experience," Misha said.

Xoc nodded enthusiastically. "I agree!"

Hopper was leaning casually against the wall in the corner, clutching his instrument. He had insisted on standing while playing, saying something nerdy about breath support that Elee hadn't cared enough to remember. He nodded. "Alright. That's not my usual scene, but I'd tag along."

"An arcade isn't your usual scene?" Elee raised an eyebrow at him. The nerd had mentioned making his own board game; there was no way he wasn't the type to be into video games.

Hop cleared his throat. "So let's talk logistics. You said it was half an hour away. How are we getting there?"

"Like I said, I'm taking you."

Elee loved driving. Her car, Thimble, had seen better days. Halos of rust encircled the wheel wells, and its doors had every kind of ding and dent. Its bumper was hanging askew where the duct tape had fallen away.

Elee loved the thing. She couldn't stand the way that some people sneered at it. She had spent months saving up for it.

The car itself had been surprisingly cheap. Its past owner had been willing to part with it for a hundred dollars. The expensive part was making sure that she was in driving condition after that. Elee was lucky to have discovered that students in the program at the community college were willing to do the work for a fraction of the cost if it meant getting the experience they needed to pass the classes.

People tended to assume that Elee was a reckless driver. It was true that she often fantasized about rolling the windows down, turning her music up, and going twenty above the speed limit on the interstate just so that she could feel the overwhelming rush of sensory input, reach the understanding that she was alive and fragile and the only thing keeping her that way as she zipped through space in a way no previous generation had been able was a few pounds of slowly corroding metal. That might not have been entirely about the car, though.

Elee was a safe driver. She stayed within a few miles of the speed limit so she wouldn't get pulled over by cops. It would be worse for her than for most people. She didn't have any registration or insurance. The day someone else hit her vehicle was the day she stopped driving, and she couldn't have that. She couldn't lose her car.

The look Hopper gave her when she suggested that she drive the group to karaoke was, frankly, offensive. "I'm a great driver, thank you," Elee snapped.

"It's true," Xoc said. He was her favorite. "When she took me home the other day, she didn't hit any other cars at all!"

Hopper sighed and shook his head. "That's not a very high bar. There are a lot of other things you have to watch for, like switching lanes recklessly, or remembering to use a turn signal."

"Okay, Driver's Ed, that's enough from you," Elee said. "Experience my driving for yourself and then judge."

"That's fair. I didn’t want to imply-- That is--” Hop cleared his throat. “So, when are we having this outing?"

"Now." Elee said. Soe was still waiting in the hallway, and Elee didn't want to leave her waiting there for too long. She had seemed anxious about meeting the others, so Elee figured she could use a minute alone to breathe.

"Now? But aren't we supposed to practice? Auditions are only a few days away," Hop protested.

"Actually," Misha piped up, "it occurs to me that we might consider this karaoke to be practice, of a sort. I, myself, have been doing vocal exercises in order to improve my performance with the kazoo, and I have learned a lot about music along the way. Perhaps we would all be able to benefit from doing some of these vocal exercises and listening to music not simply for enjoyment, but as musicians."

Xoc leapt to his feet. "I like it! Let's karaoke!"

Hopper looked around the room from face to face, from Misha's confidence, to Xoc's excitement, to Elee's deadpan. "Fine."

Soe was waiting in the hall as they all piled out. Her hands were folded in front of her and she was kneading at her knuckles with enough force to hurt. When she saw everyone else looking at her, she moved her hands behind her back.

Elee realized then that she had forgotten to mention her. "Oh, right. We also have a friend joining us. This is Soe." It was part of Elee’s tutoring duties, an exercise to improve Soe’s confidence. She’d learn that it’s okay to make a fool of yourself sometimes.

Soe raised a hand in a timid wave. She said nothing.

"Oh, uh." Hopper wiped his palm on his pants before offering her his hand. "Hopper. Pleased to meet you."

Soe reached out to take his hand, just as Misha did the same. Confused, Xoc started to slowly reach forward as well, watching the faces of the rest of the group for their reactions.

Elee chuckled. She loved these children. "Everybody, hands in the center, say karaoke on three. This is a sports huddle now!" She put her hand on top of the pile. "One--"

"Karaoke on three!" Misha cheered.

Everyone stopped to look at them.

"Close enough. Let's go!" Elee marched off down the hall, her band following in a parade behind her. "If you want to put on music in the car, I sure hope you have a cassette tape with you, because the CD player has been broken for a couple decades!"

Behind Elee, the others were chattering. She listened to them contentedly, smiling in spite of herself.

"This is going to be fun! I've never been on a road trip before!" Xoc said.

"Nor have I," Misha said. "It seems as though this is going to be a unique experience for the both of us."

"So, Soe, how do you know Elee?" Hop asked.

"She's helping me in speech," Soe said without a stutter. Elee was proud.

"In speech?" Xoc asked. "But you talk so well!"

"No, no, not like speech therapy. Have you not taken speech yet?" Hopper asked, bewildered.

Elee didn't look at everyone's faces when they reached her car. If Hop had been unimpressed before, he certainly wasn't going to be happy now. "It'll just be a minute, everyone. I have to unlock your doors individually, and the passenger's side tends to stick." Elee was glad she had started to work out. Things didn't seem to stick for her as much as they did before. Soon enough, her glare alone would be enough to make inanimate objects cooperate. She would be their god.

Elee had expected Soe to end up in the passenger's seat, too shy to share space so closely with near strangers, but instead, Misha ended up sitting up front, with Soe in the middle in the backseat.

"What songs do people sing at karaoke?" Xoc asked. "I hope I know some of the songs."

"I've never been to karaoke. Is it mostly classics?" Soe asked.

"Classics? That is an unusual idea, Soe, for I do not believe that many classical songs have words to them. I suppose it would be a challenge to improvise your own lyrics. Now that you mention it, that may be why so many people have fun with karaoke," Misha mused.

Elee laughed silently at their faces. She was glad that she could catch glimpses of them in the rearview mirror, of Soe stuttering and mumbling, turning beet red as she tried to find the words to explain to Misha that that wasn't actually what she had meant, of Hopper rubbing at his forehead, of Xoc enthusiastically nodding along.

Elee hadn't been in love in a long time. She had missed it.

The arcade had a number of karaoke booths, Japanese style, fortunately for Soe. They had some degree of isolation there, singing only for their own group, and much more control over what songs were played.

In the booth, two plush benches sat on either side of a wide, heavy coffee table, which held two copies of a guide to all the songs available, listed both alphabetically by title and alphabetically by artist. A microphone and a remote control sat beside them. On the far end of the room was a screen, which was playing a repetitive animation of dancing silhouettes. With none of the furniture reaching above their knees, the room felt spacious, like it was made for groups much larger than theirs.

Elee rubbed her hands together. "Alright, who's going first?"

No one responded.

"Fine." Elee sighed. She grabbed one of the binders and flipped through it. She could remember the last time she had come, when Karl would pick out songs that had the whole room shouting and laughing, songs that everyone knew the words to.

Everyone was watching her, Elee realized. She was their example of what to do. Elee straightened up and smirked at them before grabbing the remote and discreetly keying in the code to her song. While waiting for the song to load, she dimmed the lights until they could only see by the colors flashing across the screen.

The instrumental faded in, reaching a volume so loud that Elee could feel it vibrating through her. The screen flashed the title at them. Don't Stop Believin'. Journey.

"Loud!" Misha shouted. "Too loud, perhaps! I am worried that I will not be able to hear your voices over this music!"

Elee picked up a microphone and flicked it on. "No need to worry," she said, her voice resonating through the room even louder than the track. "You'll be able to hear me just fine." 

Soe winced at the sound. Reluctantly, Elee turned down the dial on the microphone and pushed a few buttons on the remote until the noise was at a more tolerable level.

"Just a small town girl," Xoc began, singing alone as the only one who had been paying attention to the screen during the distractions. His voice was clumsy, almost, lacking the finesse and delicacy of music. It was as though he was talking in a droning voice, only barely raising and lowering the pitch of his voice in order to hit the notes.

Misha joined in, and their vocal exercises had paid off. Their voice was strong, clear, precise. They and Xoc looked at each other with stars in their eyes.

Then Elee started singing, or shouting, really. Karaoke wasn't about sounding good. It was about having fun, no matter how awful you sounded, so it didn't make much sense to her to try sounding good.

Soe, who had been timidly watching, laughed and joined in. She was so quiet that Elee couldn't separate her voice from the general din, but she was at least mouthing along to the words.

Since he was the only one still watching the screen uncertainly, Elee passed along the microphone to a confused Hopper. He took it and, even though he still stood stiffly, started singing. He was surprisingly good. Elee wondered if he practiced in the shower.

Elee danced around the room, looking for the second microphone that she knew was hiding in there somewhere. She clapped along, and everyone else joined her. They had started moving now, swaying along to the music. The darkness offered them a sense of anonymity, a false privacy that stripped them of their shame. When you're old like Elee, you learn to give zero fucks. For the kids, they had to be nudged into it.

Hop tried to clap along. He didn't realize that he couldn't until he had slapped clumsily at the fist he had curled around the mic, sending a dull thud through the speakers. "Shit," he cursed, his voice resounding through the room, and everyone paused in their singing to laugh at him. Hop's ears turned pink, and he started singing again, this time louder and more off-key to cover for his embarrassment.

Elee found the second microphone hiding behind one of the benches. She turned it on and sang a few words in it to make sure it was working, her off-key singing clashing with Hop's off-key singing in a mess of beautiful chaos. Then she passed the mic on to Soe.

Soe's face fell. Green and pink lights danced across her cheeks, but Elee could still tell that she had gone pale.

Elee rolled her eyes and moved to stand next to Soe, holding the microphone between them so that they could both use it. She gave Soe an encouraging nod.

"Let's do it," Elee said directly to Soe before turning towards the mic.

For the last few lines of the song, they sang along together. Soe's voice was breathy, but now that she was using the microphone, Elee could tell that she had been singing all along. Performing in front of people.

"You're going to kill this speech," Elee said, realizing a moment too late that she had said that into the mic, amplified for the whole room to hear. She wasn't sure she cared. "You're going to tell them all about polar bears, and they're gonna learn!"

The song faded out. Since no one had queued another song, they were left in the dark and silence as the screen transitioned to a static menu, basking in the residual energy of what they had just done.

"Elee," Misha said, "It seems to me as though you might be able to benefit from some of these vocal exercises which I have been describing to you. I would encourage you to try repeating after me." They made a series of noises that rose and fell in pitch, growing louder and softer like a multidimensional siren.

Elee didn't need to do the exercises, in her humble opinion, since trying to sound good was missing the point of karaoke, but the exercises sounded ridiculous, which was exactly in the spirit of karaoke, so she followed along anyway. Misha started articulating a series of tongue twisters and Xoc joined in with siren noises.

"Huh," Hopper said. He tried out one of the tongue twisters and looked pleased with himself when he managed to make it through without stumbling. He brought the microphone up to his mouth and repeated the tongue twister again, this time faster, then faster again until he was blabbering nonsense. He laughed at himself, then passed the microphone off to Misha. 

"Here, coach. It's all yours."

Hopper started flipping through the binder and Misha started racing through a series of exercises and strange noises, offering no explanation or instruction between each one, leaving the others struggling to catch up.

Elee laughed. She could bathe in the pure chaos forever. Karaoke had been a good idea.

Hopper ended up picking a song that no one else had heard of, something that sounded like a cross between country and classic rock. Xoc and Misha tried to sing along, anyway, making up their own melodies, and by the end, everyone was joining in on the chorus. They jumped around in genre from top 40 radio pop hits to the sorts of songs they only knew from their parents to stupid memes. Halfway through Never Gonna Give You Up, the attendant poked her head into the room.

"You've got five more minutes," she announced.

"One last song, you guys, we better make it good," Elee said once the song was over.

"Okay, okay," Xoc said. "Something that everyone knows." He looked at Misha, and they nodded in unison, as though they had exchanged words in total silence.

Misha grabbed the binder and flipped through it purposefully. "Number 1214," they reported.  
Africa by Toto. 

\--

It took Elee as long to drop her friends off as it took her to drive back to their town from the arcade. Each parting felt ritualistic, the same sentiments repeating as they slowly weeded away at their numbers until only two were left. The sun was long gone by the time Elee brought Soe home.

"Alright, kiddo. It's just you now," Elee said.

"I never told Geri that I wouldn't be walking home with him today," Soe said, not with worry, but amusement.

Elee smiled. It was strange how transformative it was to spend time among people who cared and who loved each of your flaws. Elee felt it herself, too. She had spent so long feeling like a shadow, a parody of what she used to be, a mess, a mistake, but now, she was invincible. "You can tell him all about it on the walk there tomorrow," Elee suggested. 

Soe nodded. "I will." She cracked her door open and a whisper of a cold breeze slipped into the car. Before stepping out, she hesitated. "And, um. Thank you.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> long chap this week, short one next week, and then we're on to auditions, which i'm excited to share! i've been playing with the pacing on this one a bit trying to find that sweet spot of relaxed domesticity. if there are parts where it drags and gets boring, let me know!

"I thought there was a fourth member," Dad Theo said. He adjusted his rearview mirror and peered through it again as though squinting might materialize this elusive fourth member.

Xoc waved back at Dad Theo through the mirror, and Misha, though they looked confused, joined in. Xoc had a small electric keyboard laid out across his lap, which bumped into Misha's leg when he shifted.

"There is. She has her own car, so she's going to be following us. I think you’ll recognize it when you see it."

Just then, a car pulled up behind them, the familiar Thimble covered in equal parts flaky paint and aggressive rust with duct tape covering parts that Hop couldn't fathom would need duct tape. Elee waved at them from the front seat.

"It does have character," Dad Theo said. "Can't deny that. So she drives, huh? That mean she's older?"

Hop's ears grew red. "Dad," he protested. "That doesn't matter. Can we just lead the way?"

"Alright, alright." They pulled out of the school parking lot, Elee close behind them. 

"What does Hopper Simon's house look like?" Misha pondered.

"I picture it having at least two doors," Xoc said. "Probably some windows, too."

Misha nodded emphatically. "Yes, and the exterior is some shade of brown, or perhaps gray. I have noticed this to be a common pattern in many houses."

"I bet he has a bedroom there, too!"

Dad Theo gave Hopper an incredulous look. Hop wondered if it would be better or worse to explain that they were being genuine. He ended up saying nothing at all.

It was weird having his friends meet his parents and his parents meet his friends all at once. There were a lot of things for each group to learn and judge and Hop desperately wanted everyone to get the proper impression about each facet of his life because he loved these people. He wanted his dads to be just as fond of his new friends as he was, and judging them based on their ages was not a good start. Nor was judging them based on what they said, though there wasn’t anything Hop could do about that.

Hop's home was beige, a fact that Misha solemnly noted as they approached. "It is a color that is similar both to brown and to gray."

Hopper laughed more from nerves than humor. "That's right. It isn't much, but, uh."

It had been a very long time since Hopper brought friends over. Apart from a few classmates there to work on projects, the last he could remember was when he and Lorraine were still on good terms back in middle school. Before she had tipped her hand and revealed to him that their friendship was only a game.

Hopper shook his head. He didn't want to think about her.

Xoc and Misha were watching Hop curiously and he realized he must have been making some unusual faces. He smiled at them and stepped out of the car, waving at Elee behind them. "Why don't I give you all a tour?" he offered, trying desperately to remember whether or not he had cleaned his dirty laundry off the floor. "I guess first things first, this is a shoes off household. We've got a mat by the door.”

"That's the sort of good and just thing I was hoping to hear," Elee said. She pushed past him towards the front door, giving him a pat on the shoulder as she passed.

"Uh, thanks?" Hop guessed.

Hopper took up the rear as the others headed into the house, then ushered them into the living room. "So, this is where we'll probably be practicing. The living room. You can leave your stuff in here. And the kitchen's over here, and the stairs are just past that."

In the kitchen, Dad Alvin and Dad Theo were pretending to be casually conversing and grabbing food, but Hop could tell they were doing their best to eavesdrop. They didn't need to give him any sign, he just knew.

Hop smiled at them to let them know that he was onto them. "Everyone, these are my dads, Alvin and Theo."

Dad Alvin enthusiastically offered his hand to each of them. "A pleasure to meet you! Let us know if there's anything we can do to help make you feel at home." Theo gave a grunt of agreement and nodded.

"What do you have in the way of snacks?" Elee asked. She slipped past Dad Alvin to snoop through their fridge.

"I eat from time to time," Xoc said. He wandered forward, looking from cabinet to cabinet.

"Why don't I," Dad Alvin said, circling Elee until he was blocking part of the fridge, "throw something together for all of you? So that you don't each individually have to scavenge through our offerings?"

"Good man," Elee said. "So, what's the next stop on our tour?"

"I guess that would be my bedroom," Hop said.

Hopper wasn't sure how embarrassed of his room he was supposed to be. A lot of it had remained unchanged since his childhood, like the train that had been stenciled on the wall even though he hadn't cared much about trains sine Thomas the Tank Engine had stopped being his favorite book at age five.

That, at least, he could shrug off as a kid thing. The shrine to Jameson Hopper that took up the tops of both of his bookshelves, though, was more current, something he still very much cared about and actively tended. Sometimes, when he wanted to feel confident, he'd wear the stetson and aim the replica revolver at imaginary enemies. Sometimes he did it just for fun.

"So, uh, this is it." While he was depositing his backpack on the bed, Hopper spotted his dinosaur print pajama pants still sitting on the floor where he had discarded them that morning as he rushed to get ready for school. He quickly scooped them up, tossed them in the laundry basket, and drew his closet door shut, hoping he looked sufficiently casual. "Next is--"

Hopper, realizing he wasn't going to be able to usher his friends out of his room anytime soon, stopped talking. Elee had already found his revolver and was looking it over appreciatively. She gave the barrel a spin and it stuttered out a sharp ticking.

Elee put the hat on tilting it to cover her eyes, then aimed the gun at Misha. "You. This town isn't big enough for the both of us. Meet me outside the saloon at high noon so we can finish this."

"Actually, this town is big enough for many thousands of residents," Misha informed her. "In fact, I believe that the population of Steadfast is on the rise."

Elee shrugged, then moved the nose of the gun over to Xoc, who only frowned in confusion. "What do you say? You, me, duel?"

Hop made a gun with his fingers. "Your days of terrorizing this town end here, Badge the Bad."

"Let's do this."

Elee's eyes narrowed as the two stared each other down, neither of them daring to blink, the tension thick and hot in the humid air. If it weren't for the wind buffeting their hair, their stillness would be absolute.

"Look at you, still wet behind the ears. Do you even know how to handle yourself in a proper showdown?" Elee mocked.

Hopper approached her. "I'd spend more time worrying about myself if I was you."

The two stood back to back, their guns at their hips, and started taking deliberate paces away from each other. Before they could hit the wall, Elee turned. "Bang! Bang!"

Hopper put a hand to his chest, then pulled it tenderly away. He imagined it was warm and slick with his blood. He gave a weak cough. "You no good dirty crook. I should have known you wouldn't fight fair." Hop wobbled on his feet, staggering until he dropped to his knees.

Elee cackled. "They don't call me Elee the Eternal for nothing! Let me tell you, boy, when you've been around for as long as I have, you learn that there's only two ways to do things: the fair way, and the smart way, and those who ain't smart don't live very long."

Hopper was on his hands and knees now, one hand pressed to his chest as his breath grew ragged. "I'll get you, Elee Badge. Maybe not in this life, and maybe not in the next, but mark my words, I will get you," he gasped before falling limply to the floor.

Xoc clapped in delight. "You guys are like a movie!"

Hop stood, brushing himself off, then took a deep bow. "Thank you."

Elee's face screwed up. "Ew, is that what improv is? Now I feel all slimy." She took off the hat and placed it gingerly back where she had found it using only the tips of her fingers.

"I thought you were great," Hop told her.

"Yeah, well." She flopped onto Hop's bed. "I don't think it counts as improv unless you think you're funny, anyway."

"You read an awful lot of books, Hopper," Misha said. They scanned the titles of the stack of books that Hopper had piled up on a corner of his desk across from the textbooks. 

"Uh. Yeah. It's my favorite way to kill time."

"It seems as though you and Q-Bo have a lot in common. Although, he does prefer nonfiction and it seems to me that you have a lot of historical and fantasy stories here."

Hop was opening his mouth to ask Misha if they read much when he was cut off by Xoc.

"Hopper Scotch, what are these drawings?" he asked. He gestured at the crayon sketches taped crookedly on the wall next to the bed. "Did you draw them?"

"No, no. If I drew something like that, it would probably have ended up in the trash. No, that's from a kid I helped tutor. There are math tests on the other side, with passing grades." The drawings didn't help with the fact that his room looked like it might belong to a kid, Hop realized, but Jerry had been so excited to share them and it made Hop smile when he thought about it, so they stayed.

"Cool!"

"Don’t--" Hopper started, but it was too late. Xoc was peeling the tape off to get a look at the tests on the other side. The drawings would never stick to his wall quite as well again, not unless he added more tape, which seemed like a messy option.

Hopper turned away. He'd worry about that later.

"So, what sorts of snacks do your dads usually make? Are we talking cookies? Cherry tomatoes sliced in half so that we don't choke on them?" Elee asked. She had evidently grown bored of the bookshelves, since after the toy gun, most of what remained were books. "I'd guess the cherry tomatoes, just based on what I've seen and who you are as a person."

Hopper shrugged. His dads didn't usually make him snacks. "They'll probably just pour chips into a bowl or something. I don't think they really wanted to cook or anything, they just wanted to stop you before you ate our entire gallon of ice cream."

Elee's face dropped, her eyes growing wide. "You have a gallon of ice cream? And you're not willing to share?"

"Uh. It's a common figure of speech," Hopper said.

"Is not!" Elee protested.

"Why don't we head back to the living room? So that we can do music or something. Elee, did you have your drums in your car? Did you need help carrying those?"

Elee laughed. "No, I borrow those drums, but I don't steal them. They're still safe in the band room at school. I'll just improvise some stand-ins."

"Still at the band room," Hopper repeated. "I guess we could use pots and pans and wooden spoons and stuff. It wouldn't sound the same or feel the same, but it would be something."

"Taking inspiration from the kindergartners all over the globe. I like it," Elee said with an appreciative nod. "Let's see what all your cabinets are hiding."

Elee disappeared into the hallway. Hop cast a glance back at Xoc and Misha, who were still pawing through all his little trinkets, then decided that Elee's destructive capabilities meant she needed supervision more than those two.

In the kitchen, Dad Alvin had already put together an impressive spread. He had cut apples into slices and put them on a plate with a small bowl of peanut butter for dipping. The microwave was running, and although Hop didn't hear anything yet, he assumed it was a bag of popcorn. There were cookies, too, unlike what Elee had feared. A modest number of oreos ringed one section of the plate, enough for each of them to have two.

“Pots are over there,” Hopper said, gesturing to a cabinet. Elee nodded and got to work clanging through the cookware.

"Will your friends be staying for dinner as well?" Dad Alvin asked.

"Uh." Hop looked towards Elee.

"Yeah, we're probably going to be here a while. You don't have to worry about us, though. I can always swing by some drive through." Elee gently lowered a frying pan onto her growing stack of cookware on the stove. It clattered all the same.

"Oh, don't you dare," Dad Alvin said. "If you're staying over for dinner, we're going to be cooking for you. Are there any allergies in your group?"

"None here," Elee said.

Hopper thought back to everything he had seen Xoc and Misha eat and decided that it was entirely possible that they were allergic to good food. "I'll have to ask."

"You had better ask fast if we're going to have time for the dough to rise!"

Hopper perked up. Dough probably meant that they were going to be making his favorite food. It was pretty rare for them to make calzunes because of the long prep time.

"I myself am only allergic to pollen, which I don't believe is an ingredient common in many foods, so you can prepare your food without worrying about me. I am not a very picky eater," Misha said, appearing in the kitchen doorway with Xoc following shortly behind.

Xoc nodded. "Same here. Except for the pollen thing. I've never eaten pollen."

Dad Alvin laughed. "I will get straight to cooking, then."

The microwave beeped, and the popping noises coasted to a halt. Hopper retrieved the bag from the microwave, holding it timidly by the edge as steam rose from a small crack. "And we should get to practicing."

Elee dropped one final pot onto her stack, which landed with an impressive clank and sent the rest of the pile sliding thunderously backwards, fortunately, onto the stove and not the floor. "Couldn't agree more. But first, you said something about wooden spoons?"

\--

Elee ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, all her various pots and pans spread out before her. She tested the tones of each of them with gentle taps, then louder whacks. From the couch, Misha and Xoc, already settled into their seats, watched.

Hop took his usual position standing by a wall. "Are-- are we ready? I was thinking we could start by running through Pythagorean Rhythm, since that's what we're most familiar with at this point," he suggested.

"You more than any of us," Elee said. Then, "Sounds good to me." She counted them off and they launched into the song.

Elee's part was always more improvisational than anything. She had a rhythm written out, but she usually ignored it, especially since her equipment could change day-to-day, but Hop still couldn't help but be impressed by how well she transitioned to using pots and pans. It was nice that the drums weren't drowning everything out, too. It felt much better trying to coordinate, to follow each other's lead.

The song drew to a close and Hop looked between his bandmate's faces, trying to judge their reactions.

Xoc's face was glowing. "That was so good! Misha Jarvis, I could hear your part so well! If this is what we're going to sound like when we can get you two mic'd, we're going to sound amazing!"

"Yeah," Hop agreed.

"I guess I can't complain about the balance of sounds," Elee said. "I feel like I've been stripped of all my power, though. I want to feel the music shaking through my bones and all we've got now is a little pitter patter and some weird honky woodwinds." She started fussing with the cookie tray she had grabbed, propping it up on a pot instead of laying it flat on the carpet. She gave it a test tap and it was much less muted.

"My dad is probably going to need that cookie sheet in an hour or two for dinner," Hop told her.

"We had better play fast, then, before all my best toys are confiscated," Elee said.

Xoc had grabbed the plate of apple slices and was shoving them into his mouth with one hand while absently playing scales with his other. "What else should we play?"

Misha dipped some popcorn in the dish of peanut butter. "A cover, right? We still haven't chosen which of the covers we have practiced that we are going to play for our audition."

"We have a lot of options," Hop said. "There's I Want It That Way, Africa, Hit Me Baby..."

"I think it has to be Africa," Xoc said, casting a glance at Misha.

"I understand what you mean," Misha said.

From the way the two were looking at each other, Hop guessed that he didn't understand, not the way that Misha did, but he nodded anyway. "Alright. Let's give it a shot. Elee, what do you think?"

"I think that when I count you off, we're going to start playing Africa. Let's go."

Hopper dug through his music to pull out the sheet where he had written out the melody for Africa. It was just a scrap of notebook paper with the notes written out using the alphabet rather than a musical staff, and it didn't include any rhythms, but it was Africa.

They were a disaster. Since they hadn't practiced this song as much as The Pythagorean Rhythm, Elee switched up her patterns every few bars, experimenting since she hadn't yet cemented what she wanted to play. As the percussionist, Elee should have been the backbone of their whole band, so without her providing a steady foundation, Hop tried to step up, playing steadily rather than expressively, which made each mistake of his more apparent, and, since he was playing off of letters instead of notes, there were plenty. It seemed as though every other note, Xoc played something wrong and he had to quickly shift his chords, and even though the corrections usually sounded good, he still threw off everyone else. Halfway through the chorus, Misha started laughing into their kazoo, their buzzing getting an erratic, toneless hiccuping sort of sound, and Hop had to stop playing himself to laugh, and soon it was all four of them, laughing harder just because they were laughing. 

When they were finally catching their breath, Xoc said, "We'll have to start again from the top."

"Yes, again," Misha agreed. They brought their kazoo to their lips, poising to play, then started giggling, making little toots of noise like drunken bumblebees and the group erupted again into full-blown laughter.

\--

Their kitchen table was just barely large enough for all six of them to sit at. Hopper couldn't remember ever having a dinner where all of their chairs were full, but it was nice. He didn't feel like he had to carry the conversation, he could just enjoy the company and watch to see how his friends liked his favorite food in the whole universe. 

"A calzune," Misha said slowly. They prodded at the crust with their finger, judging its texture. "I believe they serve something like this at the cafeteria, although it goes by a slightly different name."

"Yeah," Xoc agreed. "Calzones. I don't understand what the difference is, though. I mean, I've never heard of a calzune before."

Dad Alvin started smiling, causing Hop to feel a sinking dread. "The only practical difference is that we make calzunes," he said, wrapping an arm around Dad Theo's shoulder. "But you see, when Hopper was younger--"

"Dad," Hop protested. He didn't need them busting out the albums of baby pictures like they did when his relatives visited.

"Calzunes are special because we make them," Dad Alvin said with a pointed look at Theo. "It has nothing to do with a young Hopper forgetting how calzone is spelled and getting upset at the menu in an Italian restaurant."

"And he didn't cry at the waiter about it, either," Dad Theo added.

"I was five, to be clear," Hop told the table. "I barely knew how to spell any words."

"I see," Misha said, nodding confidently. "I enjoy the sentiment that these are special and thus deserve a special name because you have made them."

"Yes, that is the proper takeaway here," Hop said pointedly while glaring at his dads.

"Do you monsters eat pizza with forks and knives?" Elee asked, staring incredulously at her place setting. She picked up her fork and turned it over as though the back might hold some clue about its presence at the table.

Xoc had already begun to cut into his calzune with his knife. He lowered it guiltily.

Hopper closed his eyes for just a second. If there had ever, in all of time, been a perfect moment, he had found it. He wanted an impression of it in his mind, something warm and eternal he could carry with him.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> since i missed a week and this is a short chapter, here it is a day early! or 6 days late i guess because i'm planning to update again tomorrow! we're just about to the auditions, then after that, i'll be taking a hiatus to sort out the rest of the story. i'm really happy with how those chapters came together and i can't wait to share!

"Hop right into the Eleemobile! That's not actually her name, though. But do hop in!" Elee crowed. Xoc obeyed.

Xoc loved riding in Elee's car. He was ready to be impressed by any car owned by a high schooler, but the Eleemobile, or whatever it was actually called, had character to it that made it feel like something from fiction. All the repairs were done with duct tape and an unidentifiable odor hung in the air and every time Elee drove Xoc home, he became a kid from a nineties movie whose friend was waiting outside after his bedtime with the headlights out to take him to investigate a haunted house even though his parents had told him not to go.

"Thanks for the ride," Xoc said.

"Nah, don't mention it. If you do, I might feel like I actually went out of my way for someone."

Xoc instructed Elee on where to take him. It wouldn't be more than ten minutes from Hop's house to Xoc's. If he wanted to talk with her, he had to do it immediately.

"Elee," Xoc said hesitantly. He still wasn't quite sure how to talk to her without risking getting punched. "You're experienced, right?"

She snorted. "You can just say old. It's not a bad word."

"That isn't what I meant," Xoc said. "It's more like, you've been going to public school for a while and you talk with people in person a lot. With me, most of my friends have been on the internet."

Elee was silent for a moment, her face moving through a series of suppressed expressions. "I guess I would have more experience than you there. Though I'm not exactly rich in friends at the moment, apart from you."

That was a good sign. Friends don't rip friends' heads off. "What do you do with people? Like, how do you spend time with them? Sorry. It kind of sounds stupid when I say it aloud."

"No, no," Elee said. "I understand that struggle. I guess one thing to do is just doing what you like. Letting them into your life, seeing if they might like the same things you do. If you play music, play music together. If you play games, do that together, too."

"Okay." A lot of the ways Xoc spent his time were meant to be done by one person, but it was something to think about, at least. See which of his hobbies might be able to accommodate someone else. "What if they don't like those things?"

Elee shrugged. "If they like you and they're not a dick, they'll at least try. I don't know what else you want to know, but like I said, I don't have all that many friends myself, so you might be better off asking someone else."

"Thanks, Elee. Your advice was helpful. What about more unique things? People do those together sometimes, right?"

"Unique things?"

"Yeah, like going out places. To restaurants or museums. How would you know which of those places to go?" Xoc asked.

Elee laughed. "Are you asking me for dating advice? You want to take Misha Jarvis on a date."

Xoc blushed and stared at his lap.

"You don't have to be embarrassed. I love it. It's just, uh." She cleared her throat. "It's been a while since I've been in the dating game. I should probably start again sometime. Uh." She took a deep breath. "Concerts. A lot of the dates I went on were to concerts. That would be fitting for you. I could text you some good venues. And if you need someone to smuggle you in to 18+ shows in a giant backpack, I'm your guy."

"Smuggling?"

"Nah, you shouldn't need it. Most of the shows will be 16+ at worst since I wasn't 18 yet for them. And you're not sixteen yet are you?" Elee said, her voice trailing off. "Well, I guess my offer still stands. And it shouldn't be too expensive either, if you're not picky about who you're seeing. There are a lot of shitty musicians out there. I mean, not a lot of popular musicians would come to a small city like Steadfast and oh boy you'd need a ride to the shows, too, wouldn't you?"

"Probably," Xoc admitted.

Elee grunted, and Xoc wasn't sure what that meant. "Do I turn here?" she asked.

"No, next right."

\--

From the moment Xoc powered up his laptop, he was greeted by spastic notification sounds. He didn't even have to check to know what it was.

brainbud69: xoc? buddy? i don't know that i've ever seen you offline this long. should i be calling the police?  
brainbud69: hello? 911? my friend has vanished. i suspect a kidnapping. locate him immediately for me.  
brainbud69: what's that? no, he hasn't gotten a social life. stop making such ridiculous suggestions. if he had, i would know.  
brainbud69: he would have told me. we're friends and that's what friends do.  
brainbud69: okay as much fun as i'm having talking to myself right now i'm going to stop and let you get back to me on your own time  
brainbud69: but i do have the first two numbers of 911 dialed already so if someone is holding you hostage and you need to send a coded message, i am on top of it.  
wizardoftheeast: sorry, loell. i think i might have a social life. XD  
brainbud69: is this that misha you were telling me about? things are moving pretty fast, huh?  
wizardoftheeast: no  
wizardoftheeast: kind of :s  
wizardoftheeast: is it a social life if all the time you're spending together is for something school related?  
brainbud69: eh  
Wizardoftheeast: even if the thing is a battle of the bands that isn't directly related to any of your classes?  
brainbud69: xoc my man! you never told me you played music!  
brainbud69: who is this stranger i'm talking to?  
wizardoftheeast: i think i'm going to take misha out to a concert.  
wizardoftheeast: i mean, i am going to take them. probably. i'm going to buy the tickets now if there's a show that works for us.  
brainbud69: no!!!!!  
wizardoftheeast: what's wrong with a concert :(  
brainbud69: nothing!!! absolutely nothing!!!!!! that's what's killing me!!!!  
brainbud69: they grow up so fast  
wizardoftheeast: loell... you've never actually told me how old you are.  
brainbud69: i'm a fellow teenager.  
brainbud69: a strapping youth with rosy cheeks, a twinkle in his eye, and a bounce in his step, just like you  
brainbud69: that doesn't mean i can't get sentimental about seeing you grow up before my very eyes  
brainbud69: seriously, i'm going to step right out of your computer screen to come pinch those rosy cheeks.


	15. audition: hopper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the start of the audition chapters!!! y'all i'm so pleased with how these fit together you have no idea

Hopper wondered, not for the first time, if it was for the best if their band was to fail the audition. Already, he had put so much more of himself into the band than he had expected to at the beginning. He had envisioned a few sessions after school, no different than attending a club a couple times a week. He'd practice a little on his own, too, but that would be enough for him to get his extra credit. He hadn't even thought about what would come after, at first.

Now, weeks later, he had made friends. He had spent every day practicing, learning how to write songs, learning how to work with a team. They had played games together and sung karaoke. They had visited his house and met his dads. He was far more committed than he had ever expected to be. More than he thought he had space for in his life. Now, though, he couldn't imagine not making that space. Maybe failing the audition meant freeing him from something he never intended to get into.

Maybe it meant forcing him away from something he had learned to love.

Hopper was one of the first to gather backstage. A girl in roller skates leaned against one wall, one arm crossed over her chest as she scrolled through her phone. An abandoned bass leaned against the opposite wall, respecting her personal space. Hopper pushed past both of them to take a place at the front of the line. He knew it wasn't an actual queue. When they signed up for auditions, they had chosen a time slot, but first in line was his favorite spot. It would help him to listen in on the other bands' performances, anyway.

Hopper tapped his foot. He paced. He decided that it was too hot there, then, a minute later, too cold. He tapped his foot again.

"Coming through!" Elee shouted. Rosy cheeked, she burst into the room, a wicked grin on her face. 

The girl in skates straightened up as Elee recklessly wheeled in a gong, which rumbled low and tinny with the movement.

"This is yours," Elee said, forcing a mallet onto Hopper.

"I probably don't want anything to do with this," Hopper said rather than asked.

Elee nodded enthusiastically. "I liberated it! Don't move; I have to get the rest of the set."

Hop watched as Elee disappeared, then gingerly set the mallet down on the floor next to the gong. He'd maintain plausible deniability, as long as the other girl didn't rat him out.

At the start of the month, Hopper had not expected to befriend Elee Badge, the school's most infamous student, the girl in anatomy class who never did her homework and slept through all the lectures.

Slowly, students started to gather and the room bubbled with life. Hop had been hoping that some noise and movement might make him feel better, less restless, but it only made him feel worse. Time was running short, and none of the other members of his band were there.

As Hopper was refreshing the band's group chat for the eighth time, Elee returned empty handed.

"Looks like this is it for today," Elee said, rapping at the gong with her knuckles. "It was not easy to shake off my tail. Can't go back out there."

"This is it for the day," Hopper repeated in disbelief. All the time Elee had spent trying to perfect her part, all the tricky stuttering transitions, all the rejected stunts that were so wild that Elee could only be considered the most ambitious amateur drummer ever or the stupidest, and at the band's most pivotal moment, her arsenal was reduced to the bulky clanging of the gong.

"Yeah." Elee shrugged and leaned against the wall.

Hopper wasn't sure why he had to do all the panicking in this relationship. "Maybe-- maybe there's a drum kit on the stage. I bet there are a lot of bands that have drums in them. I mean, I know there are in a broader sense, but at this school. These auditions. It would be a reasonable provision to make, right?"

"Maybe." Elee started tapping a rhythm on her thighs as she stared off into the distance. The Pythagorean Rhythm. Hop couldn't tell if she was fidgeting from boredom or nerves, but knowing Elee, it was likely the former.

"You know what?" Hopper said. "I'm going to go to the auditorium. The other side of the auditorium. I can let you know if there are drums on the stage, send you a text, and it'll also be helpful to get information on our competition, right? Like a spy on a reconnaissance mission."

"Knock yourself out, bud."

Hopper had never expected to be so nervous. Even escaping from the room full of his competition did little to help him. The dim quiet of the wide auditorium felt unsettling, like the room itself was anticipating the battle.

Hopper settled into a seat halfway down an aisle. Usually, he preferred to take seats near the front, but he didn't want to be noticed by Mr. Mako, who was standing in front of the stage with Mauve. Mako waved a clipboard around as he gestured at the stage. Even though Hopper couldn't make out Mauve's soft replies, he caught every word of Mako's booming half of the conversation.

"I know there's a limit to the number of people in each group; I put it there! Chairs are more than just shelves for butts! Clearing them from the stage would be more harmful than anything! Maneuvering? Who does that?"

The stage was a mess. At least a dozen chairs facing every direction were strewn across it. Only a fraction of them had an accompanying music stand. Three microphones were lined up along the front, evenly spaced and too far apart for any cohesive group. Hopper didn't imagine it would be easy to adjust any of them.

"We don't have to consider sound design yet! Just judge them on every other aspect of their lives and worry about sound design when we know more about the groups we're dealing with!"

Mauve said something wry and turned away from Mako to take a seat in the front row. Hopper tensed, but she settled into her seat without acknowledging him-- either ignoring him, or missing him completely in the relative darkness. Hopper hoped it was the latter. He couldn't think of any reasons that watching the other bands would be against the rules, but he couldn't shake the feeling of being out of place as the only student there.

He wondered if other bands had friends coming to watch them.

"Our first band is called Seismic Death Machine," Mako told Mauve. "Only two people! There's plenty of space for two people among the chairs!"

Hopper closed his eyes and listened to the way Mako's voice echoed through the room as their argument continued.

"Seismic Death Machine, you're up!" Mako shouted at twice his usual volume.

Hop startled. He hadn't even noticed that he had begun to fall asleep.

Since he had checked out, a few other people had joined him in the auditorium, all sitting closer to the stage than he was. "Yeah! Seismic Death Machine!" one cheered.

Jesse skipped onto the stage, holding up a hand for applause. No one clapped. "Aw, thanks, Joe. You know, we do it for our fans."

Everett followed sulkily behind them carrying a ukelele, which was half hidden behind them in shame. They stepped forward to stand in front of the mic on the closer end of the stage, while Jesse went to the one in the center.

"Tell us about your first song!" Mako said.

"Oh, I'm glad you asked!" Jesse said, their voice resounding through the room as they spoke into a mic turned a little too loud. Mauve shot Mako a look and said something unintelligible. "We call it The Things That Lurk In The Shadows! It's about, like, love and stuff. You know how it is, where sometimes you love a person. I think you'll feel that from this song."

"I hope so! Seismic Death Machine, you may begin!"

Everett strummed a dainty chord on his ukelele. Hopper thought he remembered Jesse saying something about Everett knowing guitar, but now he was doubting his memories.

No, he would have remembered if Jesse had said ukelele.

Hopper wasn't sure he'd call Everett skilled-- he was competent, definitely, but he mostly swapped between simple chords. Jesse started humming into their mic. The best way to describe the song, with its tiny chords and soft crooning, was cute.

"These things lurk| in the shadows| of my heart| but they're begging| to be known| by you| oh what am I to do? It's like I'm stranded| with no candle| in the dark| with this fragile| sort of spark| it shines for you," Jesse sang. Their voice was coarse, but it worked well with the simplicity of the ukelele, neither part of the act outshining the other. It wasn't the sort of thing Hop would usually listen to, and maybe it was because he liked seeing his friends on the stage, but he found himself enjoying it. He loved the way the lyrics set up expectations of angst but always shifted to something saccharine.

He wondered if Jesse would be sitting in the audience when 3D auditioned, and if they would feel the same way about his band.

Jesse started singing a series of la's as the song dwindled to a close. Hopper clapped enthusiastically, secretive spy mission be damned. Joe applauded, too, and even Mauve and Mako joined in.

"Thank you!" Jesse said. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it. But if you liked The Things That Lurk In The Shadows, you're going to love Mushroom Clouds On The Horizon!"

Jesse kicked off this song, speaking rather than singing the opening lines. "If this whole world--"

Everett joined in, this time less gentle and more bouncy, truncated chords hitting on the offbeats. 

"--turned to dust," Jesse said, then began singing.

Hopper found himself tapping his foot along to the rhythm. Jesse had started to dance, and they were spectacularly bad at it. As they stepped back and forth, closer to and farther from the mic, the volume of their voice fluctuated dramatically. They tried to grab the microphone off the stand while dancing, but misjudged the distance and the stand started to topple.

Mako leapt from his seat, reaching futilely forward, his outstretched arm not even reaching the lip of the stage. Mauve's hands went to her mouth. At the last second, Jesse caught the stand with their foot. Their eyes went wide with surprise, and they laughed as they picked the microphone back up.

"Sorry. Sorry about that. It's fine." Through the whole incident, Everett's playing didn't falter, so Jesse launched right back into singing. "In this doomed timeline you're my triumph| with a sun that never rises| mushroom clouds on the horizon| you're all I can keep my eyes on| only you."

"A charming performance!" Mako declared once the last notes of the song had faded. "We would be honored to have you playing at out Battle of the Bands!"

"Oh, thank you!" Jesse started jumping up and down, bouncing their way over to Everett, who was struggling to keep a smile off his face. "You sounded so good! We're like rockstars!"

"Next up is PB&J!" Mako called.

Everett and Jesse evacuated the stage, Jesse still chattering excitedly. The girls in roller skates glided past them onto the stage, carrying their bulky equipment with them.

PB&J looked more like a traditional rock band. A guitar, a keyboard, and, Hop surmised by her lack of an instrument, a vocalist.

"I won't ask you to go barefoot," Mauve said, "but know that at the main event we will not be allowing skates onstage. There’s too much delicate equipment around, and too many chances to get injured.”

“We love your sense of style, though!” Mako added.

The lead of the group scowled. "We can handle ourselves in these.”

The band members floated across the stage, plugging in instruments and amplifiers in a setup that Hop didn't quite understand. The keyboardist tested a couple notes, and drum sounds played over the speakers. A repetitive note of a crunchy, distorted guitar joined in as the guitarist tuned her instrument.

"Ready?" the leader asked, getting a nod and a thumbs up from the others. “Hey there. I’m Poppy.”

“Susan!”

“Joanquil!”

“And together, we’re PB&J. Here's our first song. We call it Bad Karma."

Instantly, Hopper was hit by a wall of noise that only seemed to crescendo before suddenly dropping off as the vocals started.

Their act couldn't end soon enough. The music wasn't Hop's style at all, and even though it was hard for him to say whether or not they were actually bad since he didn't have any experience with their genre, he hoped he would never have to hear them play again.

"I like it!" Mako boomed. "You three really do have style! You'll make a great addition to our lineup!"

Mauve offered some words of agreement, then another warning about wearing skates before dismissing them. She turned to Mako. "I know you don't want to worry about sound design, but I'm going to regulate the volume, at least." She joined the group on stage as they cleared out their stuff and tested each of the microphones, adjusting the volume on them as she went-- turning them down, mostly.

"Alright, next up! We have--" Mako paused as he scanned the signup sheet. Before he could read off the band name, a curly haired girl dashed onto the stage.

"The Incredible Igneous Artiste of Astaria!" the girl declared. "For this talent show, I will astound you with my magic! Watch this!"

Ig pulled something from her sleeve and clapped, then tossed a pair of fireballs into the air, which burned out instantly before they could hit the ground.

"Impressive! This isn't for a talent show, though! And we'd prefer it if you didn't burn down the school!"

"For my next trick, more fire!" Ig continued as though she hadn't heard a word of what Mako said. "This time, I'm going to breathe it!" She pulled out more flash paper, theatrically setting it alight to redirect attention while she set up her next trick.

Mauve, who hadn't left the stage, dodged her way through the fire to place a hand on Ig's shoulder. Ig stopped in the middle of her motion and turned towards Mauve with a sparkling smile. "Did I impress you?" she asked earnestly.

"You can't perform here," Mauve said firmly. "No matter how impressive that was."

"I impressed you!" Ig squealed. "I'm going to have so much fun at the talent show!" Pacified, Ig allowed herself to be guided offstage.

"Well, that was certainly an exciting interruption! Where did we leave off? Oh, right. Next up, Lorraine Stiles!"

Hopper's blood ran cold. He had known she would be here. He saw her grab a flier when Mako had first been handing them out, but he hadn't thought about it, hadn't thought about her, not for days. A rare blessing. Hopper flexed his fingers as he watched her walk onstage, trying to fight through his tangled emotions.

Lorraine looked beautiful. He hated the thought even as it occurred to him, but she did. Her scarlet lipstick was curled into a confident smirk that matched her scarlet dress, which glittered in the light as she moved. He was entranced by the way her pale hair swung as she crossed the stage.

Then she spotted him in the audience. They locked eyes and Hopper's mouth went dry. Lorraine winked.

A long time ago, Lorraine had been his neighbor. He remembered spending hours with her in the rickety treehouse in his backyard. She had been so attentive, listening as he talked about his interests, his dreams. She had told him her secrets, too. Her thoughts on her family, her friends, society, religion. Most of them fabricated, Hopper now knew.

He, on the other hand, had been completely honest. She had gotten to know him better than almost anyone, voraciously digging through his mind, befriending him like it was some sort of game. She never wanted a connection, she had only been looking for amusement, and she never let him forget that, taunting him by dangling little tidbits of information in front of him. Not always, but every so often, she'd remind him that she had gotten the best of him, and every time, she seemed to emerge more in control than before.

Hopper would call her an enemy. She called him a friend, and he could never tell if that was another taunt or if she was being genuine, and each option was worse than the last. At one point, that had been exactly what he had wanted.

Hopper didn't even notice the rest of the band assembling onstage until they started talking with Mako. They looked as though they were all part of the band or orchestra, one with an upright bass, another with a trumpet that caught the light as it moved, shining in his face, making Hop feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. Another sat at the piano.

"This has been fun, but let's not waste any more time," Lorraine said. "Here's a song I like to call ‘Think Twice.’"

They launched into something jazzy and sultry and Lorraine started to dance, swaying from side to side. She didn't break eye contact with him. Then she started to sing.

Hopper never knew that Lorraine could sing. Maybe he should have guessed from her lilting voice. This was on a completely different level, though, her voice soaring and pouring and swelling. She was so expressive that Hopper could practically hear her teasing him, even through unrelated lyrics. It was the best music that Hopper had heard all day, like something that would play in an upscale restaurant, or something timeless that his grandparents would reminisce about decades later. Hopper was proud of his own music, but he knew that no matter how well 3D performed the songs that they had written, they couldn't begin to measure up to Lorraine Stiles.

Hopper didn't want to be in the auditorium anymore. He wanted to be in the crowded, noisy back hallway with his friends, or in a bathroom stall alone, or anywhere else, but he couldn't tear his eyes away from Lorraine.

The song drew to a close and Lorraine shifted her focus from Hopper to Mako. Hopper bolted. He didn't want to hear their second song.


	16. audition: misha

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm going to be posting the next couple chapters only a few days apart-- i want to get everything before the hiatus up before nanowrimo. enjoy :)

Misha closed their eyes. They had never been alone in a practice room before. It was unsettling in ways they didn't quite understand to be the only one there with breath and a heartbeat, their only company the dust that had collected in the corners. The room they were in didn't even have a piano. Xoc couldn't join them even if he wanted to.

Misha's kazoo sounded too loud against the silence. All this time they had been talking about how quiet it was, how to configure the microphone so that their part in the music would be audible. It was hard to comprehend in that room. Misha hummed as softly as they could and it still felt like too much.

Misha shrugged off their emotions. They didn't make much sense, after all. They needed to focus on being loud, louder than Xoc's piano and even Elee's drums. They played the opening of The Pythagorean Rhythm in their head, sucking in all the air their lungs could manage before starting their part in the song.

A snapping sound came from Misha's kazoo. They pulled it away from their face in shock. They had never heard a sound such as that before. They turned it over in their hands, examining the metal shell for any damage, but everything looked fine, so they put their mouth around it once again and started to play.

The only sound the instrument made was a muted humming, unmodified. Misha thought back to everything Q-Bo had told them about the kazoo. They didn't remember it having any sort of ability to mute one's voice without transforming the tone into a lovely ticklish buzzing. They tried playing it again, trying in earnest to get the buzzing to return, but it didn't. Misha couldn't remember using any specific technique to make the kazoo sound the way it did.

Something must have broken. Misha checked their phone. They still had ten minutes until auditions started, and forty minutes before 3D's time slot.

Broken. Misha cradled their kazoo close to their chest as they watched the time blinking on their phone screen, staring blankly as the screen dimmed at shut off. Something was tugging at their mind, something heavy that pulled them out of the moment, out of time and space altogether. Familiar depths that they couldn't remember, calling to them.

Misha's phone slid off their lap and clattered to the floor, snapping Misha out of their trance. They grabbed it and turned the screen on again to ensure that it was working, then unlocked it out of habit more than any desire to make use of its functions.

The Chrome logo. Misha would consult the datasphere. It would tell them what was wrong and how to fix it.

Misha paused for a moment, considering what search terms would be most helpful in a situation such as theirs. They settled on 'kazoo broken.'

Many pages appeared describing broken membranes and possible replacement materials. Even paper was listed among them, although it was not recommended due to its ability to retain moisture. Misha wanted something more durable for their debut performance.

They watched videos of people pulling their beloved kazoos apart to replace broken membranes with scraps of plastic. It seemed to be a simple enough fix, although the idea of disassembling their very special instrument made their heart hurt. Misha could find thin scraps of plastic anywhere. They didn't have any such material on them, but hunting around the school, they were certain that they would be able to find a new resonator.

Misha headed backstage. The rest of the band would be waiting there, and it was likely that one of them would have a plastic bag of some sort in their backpack.

The area backstage where they had been assigned to gather was crowded. The room was nothing more than a hallway, and one much more narrow than most of the hallways in the school, and now, it was crammed with people from many different bands and their bulky instruments. Misha recognized only a few of their faces, such as one whom they identified Hopper's friend, who was talking with a boy dressed in black. They, too, wore a black getup with heavy makeup around their eyes.

Misha wondered if perhaps 3D should have a uniform. They would have to raise the question if they passed their audition and made it to the main event.

Only Elee waited in the hallway, one hand resting protectively on the gong she had borrowed from the band room. She did not have with her any of the other percussion instruments that she usually borrowed.

"Elee," Misha greeted. "Where are the others? And where are the rest of your instruments?"

Elee rolled her eyes. "Hop's in the audience. Said he was gathering intel or something like that. I think waiting back here was just making him nervous. Xoc hasn't shown up yet. As for the rest of my instruments?" Elee shrugged. "Got caught stealing them. I'm going to have to improvise."

"Improvise? Are you sure this is a wise decision? After all, we have spent many hours practicing with the instruments you had borrowed."

"The Simon household," Elee reminded them. The set she had used there had been cobbled together from different kitchen utensils, true, but it had been set up to mimic her usual setup.

"Perhaps you could practice in the time remaining," Misha suggested.

"Seismic Death Machine, you're up!" Mako's voice boomed from the auditorium. Misha was doubtful that he was using any sort of microphone or other amplifying device.

Jesse and their friend trooped past them and Misha realized they had lost the opportunity to ask them if they had any plastic.

"I apologize, Elee, but I do not have time to discuss this at the moment. I must know-- are you perhaps carrying with you some sort of plastic bag that I could cut up?"

"Not with me, no." If Elee was curious about why they were asking, she wasn't showing it on her face.

"In your locker, then?"

"Also no."

"I see. Thank you for your time." Misha scanned all the other unfamiliar faces in the hallway, the muscular boy with the bass, or the girls in roller skates, or the frizzy haired girl who had made a game out of sneaking up to other people's instruments in order to pluck out a note before their owners noticed her.

"Excuse me. Do you happen to have any plastic?" Misha asked no one in particular. A few dirty glances were tossed their way, and they heard groups talking among themselves, muttering things about plastic, but none of them answered their question in the affirmative. It was unfortunate that nobody in the room had anything for Misha to borrow, but they still had a school full of options.

As Misha was leaving, the mischievous girl crept towards Elee's gong, but just as she poised her fist to tap it, Elee's hand snaked out with the speed and precision of a martial artist as she grabbed the girl's wrist.

"Watch it," Elee said, tightening her grip. "Walking around like that, someone as clumsy as you might have accidentally touched my instrument. It would have been an accident, right?"

The girl pulled her hand back and snapped to attention, giving Elee a salute. "Yes, ma'am, an accident."

It was late enough in the day that many clubs would have vacated the building, and very few people remained, students or faculty. Misha dashed for the library. When they had studied there with Xoc, although they had stayed fairly late, there had still been a number of students there who had not seemed as though they had any intention of leaving.

Three students still remained in the library studying, and while Misha questioned each of them, they were all quick to send them away.

Misha wondered if plastic was, perhaps, a more valued commodity than they had been led to believe in the past.

As Misha was heading out the doors, the librarian called, "Is there something I can help you with?"

"In fact, there might be. By any chance, do you have plastic that I might be able to use? Something thin, like a grocery bag?"

The librarian frowned. "Not with me, no. I could check the teacher's lounge for you. There might be plastic sandwich bags there, something like that."

"If you could, I would be most grateful to you." Misha put a hand over their chest. They hadn't realized how quickly their heart had been racing until they had started to calm down. They hadn't been properly aware of their body since the kazoo had broken, in fact.

"You'll have to wait a little, though. I'm waiting on a call right now," she said, gesturing to something invisible to Misha behind the front ledge of the desk. Misha assumed it was a telephone.

Misha's stomach dropped. "I'm afraid I don't have the time to wait, I do thank you for your help, though, and I regret that I cannot accept it at this time," they babbled even as they headed out the door.

Sandwich bags made Misha think of the cafeteria. Surely they used plastic there, maybe some sort of plastic wrap to keep their food fresh.

The cafeteria doors were locked.

Misha checked their phone again. Seismic Death Machine would have finished their performance and the next band would be called in any minute now, if they hadn't been already. Time was running out for Misha.

Misha's locker was halfway across the school and they knew its contents well, but they visited it anyway, just in case they had forgotten about something in there, or they noticed while looking at something that it might make a suitable replacement even though they weren't able to imagine it then.

It took Misha three times to open their lock. Their fingers were trembling so severely that they kept overshooting the numbers in the combination, and every time, they could only think of all the time that they were wasting.

Nothing. Their locker held nothing usable.

Misha went to pull out their kazoo to figure out what size a scrap of paper would have to be to fit inside as a membrane and realized that they didn't have their kazoo. They had left it somewhere, one of the many places they had visited. Their mind raced, trying to retrace their steps, but their panic prevented them from thinking clearly. Their locker still wide open, they pressed their back against the wall and slid down until they were curled in on themselves in the fetal position, their head tucked into their knees.

Misha would retrace their steps. They knew that was the logical plan, right after checking their pockets again, and all the folds of their scarf. They would search their locker, too, shifting each book in a token effort, then they would retrace their steps.

They counted their breaths, and it was a little like Elee's tapping counting the band off before the song began. One, two, three, four, and then they started.

Misha breathed. One, two, three, four, and then they started.

The locker was empty, so it was shut and locked. The cafeteria doors were just as unyielding as before. The librarian seemed flustered and offered to search for the plastic again. All of the students in the library had left. The practice room was empty.

The energy backstage was completely different from earlier. People weren't as bored or fidgety as they were before. Many were nervous, still-- moreso, in fact, but a surprising number of them looked grim. Prepared to face a great trial.

Elee was gone, as was her gong. Waiting where she had been before was Xoc.

"Misha Jarvis! There you are! Hopper has been stalling for you!" Xoc said. He waved his arms frantically towards the stage.

"Stalling?" Misha asked.

Xoc started waving more insistently, then, when Misha didn't move, he grabbed their hand. "We're on! Let's go!"

Misha let themselves be pulled onstage unarmed.

Hopper's speech explaining the process behind writing the Pythagorean Rhythm halted once the two walked onstage. He nodded and tipped his hat at them. "But I don't want to bore you with the details. Why hear about the song when you could just hear it?" He stepped away from the mic, offering the space to Misha.

Misha's kazoo needed the amplification the most. They were the one who had to stand at the front of the group. Misha drifted forward, looking at Hopper as he ran his fingers over the buttons of his harmonicalculator, at Elee, who was standing next to a chair and poised to hit it with a drumstick, at Xoc as he settled into the bench in front of the grand piano.

Then they looked again at Elee, who was improvising. She had been so casual about it. Carefree. Like it was so simple for her. They could do the same, couldn't they?

Misha stepped into their place before the microphone empty handed. The other members of the band hadn't even noticed anything was wrong.

The tapping of Elee's drumstick against the chair signaled the start of the music, and as all the other members of the band ran through their rehearsed parts, Misha began to sing.


	17. audition: elee

"I have a reputation," Elee told Xoc. "I'm the delinquent. I never show up on time for anything. It's pretty embarrassing that I was the first one here. And not by a small margin, either. No, I've been waiting here for twenty minutes."

"I'm not embarrassed. I still made it before our slot," Xoc told her.

"Not embarrassing for you, for me. I've been the reliable one, standing here by my stolen goods as you flakes have flitted in and out with no sense of responsibility," Elee groused. She wasn't actually upset, just bored and ready to take it out on someone, even someone who didn't deserve it. "Well, at least you're here now."

"Flitting in and out? Was Misha here?"

Elee bit back a laugh at Xoc's eager expression and shrugged. "Yeah, for a minute. Looking for a plastic bag or something. They're around; you don't have to worry."

"Right. Yes, that's why I was asking."

They settled into an awkward silence. Since most of the other bands had already auditioned, the room had slowly emptied until, for a minute, she was the only one around. A stark difference from the constant chatter that had been swimming around earlier. Elee didn't mind the quiet, but from the expectant way Xoc was staring at her, she could tell she wasn't going to be allowed to be quiet for long.

"You, uh. You warm up yet?" she asked.

"I've played for hours over the past few days! My fingers are in pain!" He held his hands up to show Elee as though she could diagnose just from looking how much they must ache.

Elee prodded his palm. "Think you'll be able to play through the pain?"

"Of course! That's why I spent hours today playing, I had to find out!"

Elee was going to have to teach the kid to take better care of himself. At some point. Not just then, though. She wasn't in the mood to lecture. "You probably shouldn't push yourself like that," she said, lecturing him.

Xoc flexed his hands, curling them into soft fists before stretching his fingers wide. Through each step of the movement, his hands trembled. "I feel great."

"Sure, but you could easily have been stiff after so much playing, or it might be harder to move your fingers the way you want to. I don't know; I'm not a doctor. There might be some massages or something you could do? Some stretches, maybe?" Elee sighed. "Whatever. As long as you're good to play today. " She briefly considered teasing him about disappointing Misha, but she figured he already had enough anxiety there without her adding to his worries.

Xoc nodded resolutely. Then his head snapped towards the entrance. "Hopper!"

Hop strode towards them with a grim urgency. His face was white and unsettlingly blank.

"Nervous?" Elee guessed. His reconnaissance mission must not have gone well. She had expected that every other band auditioning would be better than theirs, naturally, considering that they were a poorly balanced cobbled together group with less than a month of experience practicing together, but after how much they had grown, it must have been intimidating to see how they measured up to the other bands, how much more growing they had to do. That was her theory, at least.

"No," Hop cleared his throat. "No, I'm not nervous. I am ready for this."

Elee wasn't convinced, but she had done all her mothering for the day. Spent all her nurturing energy on Xoc and his achy muscles. "You know, there's nothing wrong with a little stage fright. It happens to the best of us."

"Thanks, Elee, but like I said, I'm not nervous. Let's get this over with." Just as he said that, the muffled music coming from the stage stopped. They would be up next.

"You know that's what someone says when they're nervous, right?"

Hopper opened his mouth, then closed it again. He pivoted, giving himself a better view of the rest of the room as he pointedly looked at anything but Elee. "Where is Misha? They were around before, right?"

"Yeah," Elee said slowly. The group before them had stopped playing. That gave Misha maybe a minute to show up.

Simultaneously, the group pulled out their phones and tapped out messages to the group chat.

"We could say they're sick, maybe? I wonder if we could get some sort of extension if they were. Maybe if we're honest about them being late, we could get bumped to the end of the lineup?" Hop mused. He didn't seem to be looking for feedback, staring intently at the spot where the floor and the wall connected. It was more like he was shaping all the thoughts swirling in his mind.

"Misha wouldn't miss this," Xoc said, though not without hesitation.

Elee's stupid heart softened. She put a hand on Xoc's shoulder. "You're right. They wouldn't. If they're held up in the bathroom or something, then we only have to stall."

"Yeah. Yeah, we could do that," Hop said. "When I was watching, Mako spent a little time asking about the songs before the bands started playing. Usually they just told him the name, but I think we could run with it."

"Then there's our plan. We buy ourselves a couple minutes, and it'll be all we need," Elee said.

Hopper checked his phone again, not that any of them had gotten any notifications. He only tensed further as the band before them exited the stage, parading past with their instruments.

Elee didn't need to waste any more time comforting people who refused to feel comforted. "If anyone can spend three minutes talking about math in songwriting, it's Hopper Scotch," she said.

"3D, it's your time to shine!" Mako called.

Elee contemplated the sort of contrived choreography she would have to perform in order to trip in such a way that she would fall and hit her head against the gong while still looking natural. Anything to lighten the mood. The rest of her band acted too much like they were being led to their execution.

"Time to make use of these stolen goods," Elee said. She pushed the gong ahead of her and didn't look back. The other two didn't need to see her wavering. They needed her courage.

Elee had forgotten how much she hated spotlights. She had joined Karl onstage a few times in the past, and each time she had sworn it would be her last. She had mostly been acting playful, though. She'd have followed him anywhere, and he had known it. Elee trooped into the spotlights without flinching, without even blinking until she was at the center of the stage, though farther towards the back than the others.

The first thing Elee noticed after the spotlights was the number of chairs scattered across the stage. Many of them had been pushed into a huddle towards the back, while others formed a semicircle around the center mic.

Elee grinned. She had been afraid that she would have to resort to body percussion.

Hopper took his place standing before a microphone, waiting patiently for Mako to ask questions. Elee ignored them, focusing on tapping different parts of the chairs, first with her hands, then with either end of her mallet. She would be able to make it work, especially with Hop stalling for her.

Elee started to arrange chairs, tipping a couple over and keeping a couple standing straight. She needed to be able to reach everything easily and still have the leverage to whack the gong, so she opted not to use any of the chairs for sitting. Today, they were instruments only.

Karl would have been proud of her. Elee hated how much this band had her thinking of him. She had been trying to avoid it for so long. Every time she remembered him, she could hear him whispering in her ear. He was never upset with her, or frustrated, or disappointed. Just concerned. He had always been good like that.

Now, though, Elee was remembering Karl at his best. His benign brand of mischief. He believed that anything could be an instrument and any noise could be music, and now here she was, a percussionist using only chairs.

He had told her once that the way she laughed was music. She hadn't laughed much the last year.

"So this is 3D! And you have three members! I get it!" Mako said.

"Four, actually," Hopper corrected. "They're here. Or they will be in a minute. Actually, the three in our name came from something different. When we were brainstorming names, there were a few different adjectives that we were looking at and I'm actually not going to tell you about those because they're all at least a little derogatory and that doesn't seem like a great note for us to start on. We like the name 3D, though. Without the context, it sounds fun and innovative, and that's what we hope to bring to you today. Like my instrument, my harmonicalculator. I made it myself, so it's probably the only one in the world."

As Hopper continued explaining his harmonicalculator, Elee started testing more complex rhythms at a slightly louder volume. When she hit the chairs with any sort of force, they scooted. Annoying, but not insurmountable. She'd focus on hitting downward, since they weren't going to scoot into the actual wood of the floor unless she really wanted them to. If they did move out of her reach, she could lean. It would be a fun workout.

Xoc had settled himself onto the piano bench for all of five seconds before he stood again, heading back to the hallway. "If Misha comes, one of us should be there," he said to Elee as he passed.

Elee rubbed her hand over her forehead. The boy was hopeless.

"It makes me sad when people say they don't like math. It's not like I don't understand it, since everyone's allowed to have their own opinions and their own tastes, but so much of the hatred comes from things like homework. We're not going to be exposed to much math outside of the context of school, unlike with english or history, where people are allowed to enjoy them for what they are, since you see them in books and movies. People don't have anything like that for math, except for maybe a couple video games. Like that one we played in elementary school. I loved that game, can't remember what it was called right now. It'll come to me soon, I'm sure. I'll stop halfway through my next sentence to blurt out the title, just watch. But people don't have a chance to enjoy math for what it is. To them, math really is just homework and tests. I think, though, that if you look at music, something everyone enjoys, you can find math there, in ways more than just rhythms being fractions. That's how I wrote some of our music, I based it off mathematical formulas. Like our first song, which we call The Pythagorean Rhythm. It can be tough to get a melody to perfectly encapsulate something like that, but I'm pretty proud of how I did it."

Elee's shoulders shook with laughter. Hopper was better at filibustering than she had expected. She had managed to discover and set up her instrument all while he was blabbing away. She wondered if she should try and relieve him, but he actually seemed perfectly happy breaking down his songwriting process.

"This is all very interesting, Simon, but we do have a schedule to keep, so if you wouldn't mind, show us your first song," Mauve said, cutting him off.

"Oh. Okay. Our fourth member--"

Xoc and Misha burst onto the stage, holding each other's hands. Misha was gasping for breath. Their scarf had fallen out of place, one end of it dangling dangerously close to the floor. They smiled at each other before they broke apart.

Xoc confidently dropped onto the piano bench. With Misha around, he was practically skipping on his way there. Misha, though, seemed more hesitant. Guilty, maybe, as they made eye contact with each other band member, their expression marred by troubled emotions.

They'd have time to talk things over later. Elee started counting the group off, tapping one, two, three, four on the back of a chair, the sharp plastic clicking nothing like the rim of the snare drum she usually used. The half beat before the song started, she slapped the seat of a chair with her palm, a sound about as deep and full-bodied as she could hope to get from her cobbled together set, then she opened the song with a whack of the gong, and yeah, it felt good. She easily fell into the groove of things, the familiar rhythms unconcerned with the new instruments.

Grinning, Elee looked up at her friends and nearly faltered when she saw Misha's hands hanging by their sides. Empty. No kazoo.

Misha hitched up their scarf, tossing it over their shoulder, then started to sing. "A word to all the unenlightened! We're 3D, musical titans!"

Elee remembered hearing Misha's voice before in karaoke. They sounded different now, a little unsteady, not that Elee would blame them with how disheveled they had looked before and the fact that they were almost certainly improvising these lyrics on the spot. Their voice still sounded good, clear and agile, worthy of being at the front of the band.

Elee managed to keep her composure, but Xoc actually did stumble. He managed to play it off as an artful, jazzy stutter by similarly bungling a few other notes. At least, Elee wasn't sure she would have noticed if she hadn't known. She could practically see the tense half-frown Hop would have after hearing his precious rhythms disrupted like that.

Elee mirrored Xoc's improvisations, just to spite her mental version of Hop.

“When I wake up in the morning| my mouth feels fuzzy," Misha crooned. They had lost any sort of narrative or semantic thread they had been following before, but at least all their words fit nicely into the melody that they should have been following with their kazoo. It was a disaster, but they still sounded far better than they had any right to sound.

They hit the song's climax and it felt good to play, better than it ever had before. Elee's drums weren't overwhelming the other sounds, and the kazoo and the harmonicalculator weren't competing for sonic space. They were balanced. It felt right. The ad-libbing needed some tuning up, but it was nothing insurmountable.

Elee knew their band sucked. Sometimes, it felt like she was the only one there assessing their music with a level head, with Hop too blinded by his love for math, Misha too blinded by their love for their kazoo, and Xoc too blinded by his love for Misha. She had only been part of the group as an expression of her commitment to being a better student, at first, and lately, she'd say she was part of the group because she liked the company, and if she was being completely honest, which was not something she cared to be, she'd also admit that it was in part because it made her think of how life had been with Karl and his crazy dreams. Being part of the group did not mean she had faith in their music.

Now, though, listening to them play, Elee wondered if maybe they weren't capable of sounding okay. Good would be a stretch, but maybe they'd be able to stand against a handful of high school wannabe rockstar groups.

"We're in a pickle like a sandwich, or in a sandwich like a pickle," Misha sang.

They still had their rough patches.

When the song drew to a close, Misha apologetically turned to face the group. "I am sorry. I went against everything that we had been rehearsing for so long, but my kazoo, it-- it broke."

"Misha Jarvis, that was amazing. You're amazing," Xoc said.

Misha smiled and gave a small, embarrassed laugh. "It was nothing. I only did what Elee would do and improvised."

"You did me proud, kid," Elee said, holding a hand to her heart.

Hopper looked a little more conflicted, frowning and obsessively shifting his grip on his harmonicalculator. "It worked out in the end, I guess. And we can still do our second song as planned, since it already has lyrics. Misha, did you want to introduce this one?"

"I would be honored to." Misha turned back to the mic. "Hello. I do apologize for my late arrival, you see I was tied up with some other matters. In any case, I am here now. I hope that you've enjoyed The Pythagorean Rhythm as much as we enjoyed performing it for you. Up next, we will be playing for you a cover of Toto's Africa." They gave a small bow and took a half step backwards, looking over their shoulder at their bandmates for affirmation. Elee gave Misha a single nod. Hop gave them two. Xoc gave them a look so overflowing with affection that it could drown them all.

Elee counted them off again, slipping easily and naturally back into the groove like the music was her home. She nearly choked when she caught Xoc singing along with Misha. He wasn’t at a mic and sung just beneath speaking volume, quiet enough to be almost entirely drowned out by the piano, and hopefully quiet enough to be drowned out by the rest of the music to their audience. Xoc was having the time of his life, Elee realized, and at a whisper, she started to sing along, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> elee didn't care. "i care," elee said, caring deeply.


	18. audition: xoc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we've reached the last of the audition chapters!!! that means that i'll be taking a hiatus for a couple months to work on other projects and to make sure that i have the time and space to make the continuation of this story the best it can be!
> 
> I do have a lot more written, and a lot of quick summaries that'll be fleshed out into chapters eventually, but since a fair bit of it still hasn't been written, you can leave a comment if there's something you want to see explored in later chapters!
> 
> enjoy! see you soon!

Xoc was probably going to cry before the night was over. He had felt something building inside him earlier while he had been biking to the school, worried that he would be late, then again when waiting for Misha to show up. When Misha showed up, it hadn't dispelled his anxiety, just overwhelmed it with a giddiness that made him feel more unsteady than before.

Then Misha started to sing and Xoc could barely process his feelings anymore. He had a sort of buzzing running through him, like the feeling he got when he forgot to eat for entire days as he sometimes did. He didn't have time to try processing anything. Between his shakiness and his finger cramps, which Elee had been right about, he had to focus on his playing. He couldn't rely on muscle memory when his muscles were so ready to betray him.

He wanted to live in the moment forever. The way the shadows puddled around him, hiding from the onslaught of the stage lights, the way their sound echoed through the room, at once muddier and clearer than ever as the reverberations blended everything together and distinguished every feature. The judges watching. They must have been just as starstruck by Misha Jarvis as he was. As much as Xoc loved their kazoo playing, he thought he might love their unaltered voice even more.

Too focused on his fingers to be aware of what the rest of his body was doing, Xoc didn't notice for a second that he was singing along. When he did, that was when he knew for a fact that he was going to cry.

When the song drew to a close, Xoc held onto the last notes for as long as possible, letting them hum through the air until they were only whispers, then not even that, and still he didn't take his fingers off the keys until the judges started to talk.

"I'd call that experience avant-garde!" the loud judge boomed.

"I've certainly never heard anything like it," the other judge agreed wryly. They looked at each other. "There's something to be said for a group that paves their own way."

"There is!"

"Uh," Hopper said. "We're proud that there's no other group in the world quite like us."

"You have some interesting foundations! I'm intrigued by the chairs!" the judge said.

Elee raised a hand in appreciation. "Thank you for letting me borrow yours. I have a folding chair that I usually use, but it's in the shop."

Xoc cast Elee a confused glance. Just as he was opening his mouth to contradict her, she shook her head.

"I see," the quieter judge said.

"The frame of this thing would have made an adequate replacement." She patted the gong. "Not too different from what I'm used to. Couldn't help myself when I saw how many chairs there were here. Anyway, if there was something off about my performance, that was it. I can sound much more polished than that."

Misha turned to cast Elee a confused glance, but just as they were opening their mouth to speak, Elee shook her head.

"In that case, you played astoundingly well!" the loud judge said.

The other judge nodded in agreement. "I understand. These things do happen. And Simon, you said you built that instrument yourself?"

Hop tipped his hat at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"That's incredible for a student." She pursed her lips in thought. "I know what my judgement is."

"I do as well!" The loud judge declared. The quieter judge whispered something to him and they both nodded. "We'd be delighted to have you as part of our Battle of the Bands! You have some unique talents to show off!"

It felt as though Xoc's heart had stopped beating and only then in that moment did he start feeling again. He felt the blood rushing in his fingertips and roaring through his ears and those tears that he had been expecting earlier started to build. He was so happy. He needed either to dance or to hug someone and sob until their shoulder was soaked. He'd be able to play more music with Misha and the others.

Hop tipped his hat again. "And we're delighted that we get to be part of it."

"Just one piece of advice," the quieter judge said. "Something as... structured as The Pythagorean Rhythm doesn't seem to suit your group. I'd try preparing something different for the competition."

"Yes, ma'am." Hopper clutched his harmonicalculator tighter and ducked his head.

"Amber Clave, you're up!"

One hand resting on the gong, Elee looked at the tipped over chairs surrounding her. She gave one a strong kick, clearing a path for her to wheel the gong out. Misha looked to be in a daze. They hadn't tried to say a word since they had stopped singing. Hopper's spirits seemed to have sunk as well. He shuffled off the stage with his chin still tucked into his chest.

Once they were backstage, Xoc emitted a wordless noise of excitement, which grew in volume. "Our band made it! We get to compete in the Battle of the Bands!"

Elee high-fived him, but neither of the other two shared his enthusiasm, drifting blankly through the hallways as they headed nowhere in particular.

"I did not expect this to be how our night would go," Misha said. "I am sorry, friends, but my kazoo has broken. I believe that I will be able to fix it simply by replacing the diaphragm, however, in my searching, I could not find a plastic bag which I could use. But I could not help myself. I still wished to perform with you. I wish that I had been able to give you all some sort of warning so that we might have discussed this beforehand."

"Misha Jarvis, you can't apologize for what happened back there. You were incredible!" Xoc said.

"Yes. I think I like that better than the kazoo, actually," Hopper hastily added. "But Misha, did you say you couldn't find a plastic bag? There are trash bags everywhere. Might not be the most sanitary, but you could cut a corner off one that was recently changed.”

Misha blinked. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Panic can make us all stupid," Hopper said, his voice catching on the word stupid.

"Alright," Elee said sharply. She whipped the gong around so that it was parallel to a wall and took a seat on the floor. "Xoc's the only one here reacting properly. We won today. Had our victory. We should all be allowed to be excited, so we're going to have a nice, open talk now so that we can discuss Misha's role in the band and whatever's going on with you." She gestured at Hop.

The band settled into a circle, sitting on the floor.

Hopper sat with one knee bent up to his chest and the other straight, his back unusually hunched. "That was the song that I was most proud of out of everything I've written. If it's not good enough, then I don't know where to go from here."

"We weren't forbidden from playing it," Misha said. "Perhaps when I am not improvising the words, it will seem to be a better song to the judges."

"Not likely. They said that it was too structured, remember?"

"I like that attitude, Misha. Fuck 'em; we can play what we want," Elee said. Misha smiled at her.

"No," Hop said firmly. He straightened out his posture. "I don't want to hold the group back. We don't have to use my song."

"You said you wrote that song when you were twelve, right?" Xoc asked.

"Uh, yeah." Hop blinked. "I'm surprised you remember that."

"Oh, buddy," Elee said, "you can do so much better than twelve-year-old you. It was a good starting point. Helped us find our identity as a band. But we can go forward from here. Upward."

"I guess you're right. When I wrote that song, I didn't even know any precalc," Hopper said, chuckling to himself. "Maybe I was just upset to think that we had to start from scratch when I didn't have any ideas for where to begin."

"Better now?" Elee asked.

"I will be."

"Good. Now it's your turn, Misha," Elee coaxed. "What's wrong?"

"I am upset over the loss of my poor kazoo. Although now I suppose with Hopper’s suggestion of using trash, it is not so much a loss anymore as a need for repairs. I do love that kazoo, and while I would miss playing it, I also had fun singing as part of this group. So I would not mind making a change," Misha reported.

"Maybe you could switch between the two," Xoc suggested. He loved that kazoo, too. He had had doubts about his decision to join Misha in a band--he hadn't ever liked playing piano before. It had been a chore. For a little while, he had wondered if he might regret his choice, but the kazoo had banished all his doubts. It told him that music could be a completely different experience than what he expected. He wasn't sure what it meant to him that they might have to give it up.

Pressure was building behind Xoc’s eyes again. He sniffled and blinked hard.

Misha nodded enthusiastically. "That is an excellent suggestion, Xoc. I do not believe that carrying a kazoo would be prohibitive to my singing as it is such a small instrument."

"Yes. That does work logistically, doesn't it?" Hop said. He and Elee shared a look.

"The matter is settled, then. We're going to write new songs that will include both kazoo parts and words," Elee said. "Impromptu therapy session slash business meeting over. I've got to figure out how to smuggle stolen goods back to where they belong, so if one of you wouldn't mind coming along to provide the distraction that I'm inevitably going to need, I'd appreciate it."

"I will gladly assist you in this matter, Elee," Misha said.

Xoc watched as the two stood, brushed themselves off, and took off heading towards the band room. They were leaving, but they’d be back soon, the group would be together again soon, and they’d be able to play music together a little longer, and Xoc hadn’t been sure at the start of the night that that would be true.

"We did it," Hopper said. "I think it was a narrow victory. Mauve and Mako were a lot faster to accept some of the other groups, but we made it."

“We did,” Xoc agreed, his voice wavering. “You sound surprised.”

Xoc didn’t know whether he had been expecting the group to succeed or fail. Some subtle dread had kept him from imagining the future. He would have been content to have just their practices every few days for the rest of time, and knowing that things were about to change, whether for the better or the worse, hurt. After they had succeeded, though, and confirmed that they would be moving forward in the competition, it felt like no other outcome would have fit. This was where they were meant to be, what they were meant to do.

Hopper laughed, a slow, dizzy sound. "I guess I am. I mean, we only even met each other a few weeks ago, but now, here we are. I think I'm proud."

“I’m proud, too,” Xoc said, and there were the tears that he had been waiting for. He swiped the sleeve of his hoodie over his cheek. "I'm glad we met, Hopper. You've been a great friend."

"Yeah. I'm glad I met you, too," he said slowly, tentatively, not like he was being insincere, but disbelieving.

"Do you think we'll still be a band after the competition?" Xoc asked. He didn't like to think of them drifting apart, but after being caught by surprise by the fact that the auditions would have any sort of outcome, he didn’t want dread to blind him again.

Hopper stretched an arm over Xoc’s shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. "That's a decision we'll each have to make. But for my part, I hope so."


End file.
